THE  SHADOW 
OF  HILTON 
fERNSROOK 

A  ROMANCE  OP 
MAORILAND 

BY 

ATHAWSTBURY 


D  "ilia 

al 

r 


•;;'.''"-  :  -•    •'  --  •  •"'  •• 


eERTRAND  SMITH  8 

BOOK  STORE 
••ACRES  OF  BOOKS 
633   MAIN  ST. 
«UC4NNATl.  OHIO. 


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"  Victorine  let   the  flowers   fall,   and   turned    the   bracelet  on 
her  arm." 

FRONTISPIECE  — Page  211. 


THE  SHADOW 

OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK 

3U\u    Versus    fbppnottsm 

A  LOVE  STORY 

By  ATHA    WESTBURY 

The    Illustrations    were    drawn 
By    A.    BURNHAM     SHUTE 


NEW    AMSTERDAM     BOOK    COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS   :    NEW   YORK  :  1902 


COPYRIGHT,  1896 
NEW  AMSTERDAM  BOOK  COMPANY 


URt 


CONTENTS. 


PAGB 

Prologue  :  The  Burning  Schooner 5 

CHAPTER 

I.  Fernbrook 13 

IL  PaxinBello 22 

HI.  The  Mesmerist 34 

IV.  The  Might  Have  Been 45 

V.  Colonel  de  Roal 56 

VI.  Te  Papa's  Rangers 67 

VH.  The  Heights  of  Tomartu 76 

VIII.  Velis  et  Remis 81 

IX.  Cupid 93 

X.  Love's  Young  Dream 105 

XI.  Peter  Dusk 119 

XH.  Trance  Shadows 127 

XHI.  Maud  Carlington 138 

XIV.  At  Last 153 

XV.  The  Bandoline 164 

XVI.  " Love's  Test" 173 

XVII.  Behold  the  Man 183 

XVHL  The  Bird  has  Flown 197 

XTX.  Fencing 206 

XX.  Victorine  Gayland's  Agony 214 

XXI.  The  Block  Pah 227 

XXII.  Bearding  the  Lion 234 

XXIII.  Colonel  de  Real's  Theory 243 

XXTV.  PoorTeCoro 252 

XXV.  "Ward's  Rifles" 261 

XXVI.  Ne  Plus  Ultra 277 

Epilogue 300 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE. 

Victorine  let  the  flowers  fall  and  turned  the  bracelet  on  her 
arm.  -------  Frontispiece. 

Te  Core's  eyes  slowly  close,  the  shapely  head,  with  its  coro- 
net of  glossy  raven  hair,  falls  backward  on  the  cushioned 
chair,  ----------40 

For  a  moment  he  stands  over  his  fallen  antagonist.  65 

"Now  then,"  he  says,  "be  careful  to  step  firmly.     Don't  be 

afraid."          -_---_-__     109 

The  stranger  sat  down  and  pressed  his  hands  tightly  over 

his  face  for  the  space  of  a  minute.        -        -        -        -     161 

Fernbrook  quickly  drew  forth  a  similar  weapon  and  covered 

his  adversary.        -        -        -        -        -        -        -        -190 

Round  and  about  the  guns  the  battle  seems  to  rage  fiercest.     275 

"  Why  should  you  kill  me  ?  "  he  said  at  length,  looking  down 

on  her  determined  face.         ------    288 


PROLOGUE. 

THE    BURNING    SCHOONER. 

ON  the  evening  of  December  10,  18 — ,  the  "Durham 
Castle,"  merchantman,  2,000  tons  register,  lay  like  a 
huge  log  upon  the  waters,  in  the  breathless  stillness  of 
a  tropical  afternoon,  when  the  air  was  hot  and  heavy, 
and  the  sky  brazen  and  cloudless;  there  was  not  a 
puff  of  wind  to  ruffle  the  surface  of  the  ocean,  upon 
which  the  ship  rose  and  fell  with  the  monotony  of  a 
clock's  pendulum. 

The  sun  had  just  got  low  enough  to  peep  beneath 
the  awning  that  covered  the  poop  deck,  and  spread 
his  rays  athwart  the  figure  of  a  man  asleep  on  the 
cabin  skylight.  Save  for  the  man  at  the  wheel,  and 
another  at  the  quarter  railing,  the  sleeper  was  alone  on 
the  deck.  In  the  absence  of  a  breeze,  the  ship  rolled 
and  lurched  on  the  heaving  sea,  her  idle  sails  flapping 
against  the  mast  with  a  regular  recurring  noise,  and 
her  bowsprit  rising  higher  with  the  swell  of  the  water, 
only  to  dip  again  the  next  moment  with  a  jerk  that 
made  each  rope  tremble  and  tauten. 

5 


6  THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

The  "  Durham  Castle  "  had  been  sixty- five  days  out 
from  the  Land's  End,  and  was  fast  approaching  her 
destination,  when  a  dead,  sleepy  calm  environed  the 
vessel,  as  if  she  had  entered  the  Dead  Sea.  The  ap- 
pearance of  the  ship  differed  in  nowise  from  that  of  an 
ordinary  ocean  liner,  except  perhaps  that  she  carried 
a  more  than  ordinary  complement  of  passengers.  The 
intense  heat  had  driven  them  below,  some  to  indulge 
in  cards  and  other  games,  some  to  read,  and  the  re- 
mainder to  sleep,  like  the  man  reposing  on  the  sky- 
light. By  and  by,  as  the  sun  sunk  lower  down  on 
the  vast  area  of  golden  azure,  this  personage  awoke. 
Stretching  himself,  after  the  manner  of  a  ponderous 
ape,  he  threw  a  quick  glance  upward  at  the  flapping 
sails,  and  then  called  out — 

"  For'ard  there ! " 

"  Ay,  ay,  Capt'n,"  replied  the  man  forward. 

"  Pass  the  word  for  Mr.  Jones,"  he  cried ;  then  rising 
and  advancing  towards  the  binnacle,  he  said,  "  No  sign 
of  a  change  yet,  Benson." 

"  None  whatever,  Captain,"  responded  the  man  at  the 
wheel.  "There  isn't  as  much  wind  as  would  fill  a 
paper  balloon." 

Mr.  Jones,  the  chief  officer  of  the  "  Durham  Castle, " 
a  bandy-legged,  big-bearded,  gruff -voiced  son  of  Nep- 
tune, waddled  on  deck,  and  drew  near  his  superior 
officer,  Captain  Jepp  Bowman. 

"  Reef  the  topsails,  and  haul  fast  the  foresheet  and 
jib,  Mr.  Jones ;  we  may  as  well  make  everything  snug 
for  the  night,"  said  the  Skipper. 

The  commotion  overhead  roused  the  attention  of 
the  passengers,  who  flocked  on  deck  to  watch,  and 
some  to  help  the  crew  in  taking  in  sail.  Many  were 
there  who  cast  anxious  looks  over  the  broad  expanse 


THE  BUENING  SCHOONER.  7 

of  water,  in  search  of  the  first  glimpse  of  that  new 
land  which  for  the  future  was  to  be  their  home. 
Others  there  were,  and  of  these  not  a  few,  who  were 
returning  home  again,  from  a  visit  to  that  older  and 
former  home.  The  colonist,  the  emigrant,  the  needy, 
and  the  well-to-do,  all  crowded  together,  to  watch  the 
sun  go  down  into  the  vast  sea  in  all  his  glory  of  crim- 
son and  gold. 

"  How  many  days  before  we  reach  port,  Captain  ?  " 
asks  a  tall,  burly  sheep-farmer,  returning  to  his  station 
on  the  Patea,  from  a  trip  to  Scotland. 

"Well,  I  reckon,  if  we  have  no  better  wind  than 
we've  had  lately,  we  shall  reach  Auckland  about  Tib's 
Eve,  which,  by  the  way,  is  neither  before  nor  after 
Christmas,"  replied  he,  laughing. 

"  Oh,  but  I  trust  to  eat  my  Christmas  dinner  at 
Glenbrook,  with  the  Missus  and  wee-uns,"  added  the 
farmer. 

"  I  hope  so,"  rejoined  Captain  Bowman ;  "  a  cat's- 
paw  will  waft  us  into  port,  if  we  can  only  get  it." 

"Then,  we  are  near  land?" 

"  Very  near.  According  to  my  calculations,  the 
Great  Barrier  is  not  a  hundred  knots  distant ;  I  ex- 
pect to  sight  its  peak  every  hour." 

The  news  soon  spread,  and  when  the  dinner-bell 
rang,  there  assembled  a  gladsome  array  of  faces  in  the 
saloon  and  in  the  fore-part  of  the  ship,  to  congratulate 
each  other  that  the  end  of  the  long  and  tedious  voyage 
was  drawing  near. 

Darkness  came  apace,  with  hosts  of  stars,  which  were 
mirrored  on  the  bosom  of  the  glassy  sea,  giving  it  the 
appearance  of  some  wonderful  floor  studded  with  dia- 
monds. On  deck  the  passengers  were  standing  in 
knots,  laughing  and  chatting  and  smoking. 


8  THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

"  Fine  night,"  said  one  of  these — a  well-made,  sol- 
dierly-looking old  gentleman,  striding  up  to  the 
Captain,  and  joining  his  pace  with  that  of  the 
Skipper. 

"No  signs  of  a  breeze  yet,  though,  Colonel  Lan- 
groove." 

"  How  provoking  ! " 

Just  then,  from  out  of  the  violet  haze  that  hung  over 
the  horizon  a  strange  glare  of  light  broke. 

"  Hallo !  "  cried  the  Colonel.     "  Did  you  see  that  ?  " 

Captain  Bowman  rubbed  his  eyes.  "  I  saw  it  dis- 
tinctly— a  flash  of  light."  Every  one  on  deck  had 
seen  it. 

"  Mr.  Tremaine,  the  second  officer,  saw  something 
like  that  before  dinner.  There  must  be  thunder  in  the 
air,"  responded  the  Captain,  as  he  passed  into  his  cabin 
for  his  night-glass. 

Ere  the  Skipper  returned,  a  thin  streak  of  light  shot 
up  for  an  instant,  then  sank  again.  The  Captain  had 
seen  it.  Placing  his  glass  in  the  direction,  he  looked 
long  and  carefully. 

"  What  is  it,  sir  ?  "  interrogated  the  Colonel. 

"  I  can  hardly  make  it  out,"  replied  the  Captain,  still 
looking  intently  through  his  glass.  "There  seems  to 
rest  a  tiny  black  cloud  on  the  extreme  edge  of  the 
western  horizon ;  and  if  it  was  not  for  the  crimson 
sky,  I  should  say  there  was  flame  with  the  cloud." 

"  What,  fire  ?— not  fire  ?  " 

«  Ay ! " 

An  hour  later  one  simultaneous  exclamation  burst 
from  all  the  watchers  on  deck.  From  out  the  gloom 
there  rose  a  column  of  flame,  that  lit  up  the  night  for 
the  space  of  three  seconds,  and  then  fell,  leaving  a  dull 
red  spark  upon  the  water. 


THE  BURNING  SCHOONER.  9 

"  It  is  a  ship  on  fire,  gentlemen !  "  cried  the  Captain, 
and  in  the  same  breath  an  order  was  given  to  lower  a 
boat. 

The  long-boat  was  in  the  water  in  a  few  minutes, 
and  Mr.  Jones  stood  by  the  gangway  awaiting  further 
orders  from  his  chief. 

"  She  does  not  appear  to  be  a  very  large  ship,"  re- 
sponded the  Captain,  in  answer  to  a  question  put  by 
someone  near.  "  A  fore  and  aft  schooner,  I  should  say 
by  the  cut  of  her ;  but  she  is  a  long  way  to  leeward,  a 
good  ten  miles  or  more.  Mr.  Jones !  " 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir." 

"  Put  a  keg  of  water  and  a  flask  of  brandy  aboard, 
then  call  the  watch." 

"  Poor  devils !  they  will  be  roasted  like  chestnuts," 
muttered  the  Colonel,  as  the  glow  in  the  sky  became 
more  and  more  intense. 

"  They've  got  their  own  boats,"  said  Captain  Bow- 
man, coolly ;  "  and  you  may  be  certain  they  will  make 
use  of  them.  In  the  meantime,  I'll  show  them  that 
there's  someone  near.  There !  they'll  see  that,"  he 
added,  as  a  rocket  rose  upward  with  its  ghastly  flame 
into  the  air. 

"  Mr.  Jones,  man  the  long-boat  with  six  men.  You 
may  take  a  volunteer  or  two  from  among  these  gentle- 
men willing  to  go  with  you." 

In  a  moment  a  score  proffered  their  services,  but 
only  a  relay  for  the  six  oars  was  selected,  and  the  boat 
pushed  off  into  the  darkness. 

The  sea  appeared  oil  rather  than  water.  Huge, 
foamless  billows  rolled  onward  without  a  sound,  save 
for  the  dip  of  oars,  which  was  re-echoed  in  space  by  a 
succession  of  strange  impressions  like  voices.  The  men 
pulled  with  a  will.  As  the  oars  struck  the  dark  ele- 


10          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

ment  it  flashed  fire,  and  the  track  of  the  boat  resem- 
bled a  sea  snake  writhing  through  a  lake  of  silver. 

"  Give  way,  lads ! "  urged  the  mate,  with  a  cheery 
voice,  and  the  rowers,  with  set  teeth  and  compressed 
lips,  propelled  the  little  vessel  along  with  the  speed  of 
a  steam  yacht.  By-and-by  they  were  in  a  cloud  of 
smoke,  which  hung  over  the  crimsoned  waters,  and  the 
order  was  given  to  ease  off  a  little.  The  burning  ship 
was  close  at  hand  now.  Mr.  Jones  wondered  that  no 
boats  had  been  met  with.  Raising  his  voice,  he  bade 
his  exhausted  crew  lay  on  their  oars,  then  hailed  the 
burning  vessel. 

She  was  a  large,  clumsily-built  schooner,  with  great 
breadth  of  beam.  Though  the  fire  had  only  been  seen 
but  an  hour  or  two  ago  by  those  on  the  "Durham 
Castle,"  the  craft  was  already  a  wreck,  and  appeared 
completely  deserted.  Amidships  and  the  lower  deck 
were  one  mass  of  flame.  Her  ports  presented  great 
charred  rifts  and  gaps,  where  the  red-hot  fire  glowed 
as  through  the  bars  of  a  gigantic  furnace.  The  masts 
had  gone  by  the  board,  and  trailed  a  blackened  wreck 
on  the  water.  The  flames  still  roared  like  a  cataract, 
amidst  huge  volumes  of  smoke,  which  rolled  away  like 
a  cloud  over  the  sea. 

The  mate  pulled  slowly  round  the  stern  and  hailed 
the  deck  again  and  again.  Still  there  was  no  answer, 
though  the  flood  of  light  that  dyed  the  water  showed 
out  every  spar  and  rope  as  distinct  and  clear  as  noon- 
day. 

"  What  is  her  name,  men  ?  Can  you  see  it  ?  "  roared 
the  mate  through  his  hands,  as  the  boat  drew  nearer. 
One  of  the  men  in  the  bow  stood  up,  and  shading  his 
eyes  with  his  hands,  called  out  : 

"It  is  the 'Seagull,' sir!" 


THE  BURNING  SCHOONER.  11 

"  The  '  Seagull ! '    From  where  ?  " 

"  Sydney,"  cried  the  bowman,  amid  the  roar  of  the 
flames. 

"  That  will  do.  Back  water,  my  men.  Round  with 
her.  There  is  not  a  living  soul  here,"  cried  the  officer, 
and  he  gave  the  order  to  pull  back  to  the  "  Durham 
Castle." 

Mr.  Jones  was  mistaken. 

Through  the  gloom,  and  shrouded  in  the  cloud  of 
thick  smoke,  two  men  lay-to  in  a  boat.  The  oars  were 
in  their  hands,  but  they  did  not  use  them.  With 
straining  eyes  these  two  personages  watched  the  move- 
ments of  Mr.  Jones  and  his  companions  with  all-ab- 
sorbing interest.  Once  when  the  mate  passed  near, 
on  his  return,  one  of  them  put  out  his  hand,  as  if  to 
call  out,  but  the  other,  with  a  quick  movement,  seizing 
him  by  the  throat,  and  muttering  in  an  angry  tone, 
"  Fool !  would  you  betray  us  ? "  held  him  down  until 
the  rescuers  had  passed  by  and  left  the  lurid  mass  but 
a  red  speck  in  the  distance. 

When  day  broke,  and  the  "  Durham  Castle  "  appeared 
but  a  speck  upon  the  vast  surface  of  waters,  these  two 
solitary  men  hoisted  an  old  tattered  sail  they  had  with 
them  in  the  boat  and  sailed  away  from  the  charred 
wreck  of  the  ill-fated  schooner,  steering  a  course  al- 
most due  west. 


12          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 


CHAPTER  I. 

FEKNBBOOK. 

No  spot  in  the  whole  southern  hemisphere  can  boast 
such  a  bold,  rugged,  and  imposing  coast-line  as  New 
Zealand.  On  its  most  northern  ledge  towers  the  Great 
Barrier  Rock — the  point  on  which  the  ocean-tossed 
mariner  first  rests  his  eye — the  first  land  seen  when 
bearing  up  for  Maoriland.  A  strange  land  this. 
Along  its  shores  the  vision  encounters  huge  and  mystic 
shapes  at  every  turn  of  the  sea  wall :  here  the  Colossus 
of  Rhodes,  there  a  ponderous  Sphinx,  rising  sheer  up 
above  its  fellows,  and  whose  base  has  been  lapped  by 
the  restless  waves  for  a  thousand  years. 

Truly  a  strange  country  is  this  of  Te  Waito,  the 
Maori,  and  the  most  mystic  and  awe-inspiring  spot  of 
all  is  that  of  the  Barrier  Rock.  Save  the  fire  mount- 
ain of  Tongariro,  it  is  the  grandest  and  also  the  high- 
est point  in  New  Zealand.  It  is  a  gigantic  mount,  as 
large  as  Gibraltar,  and  equally  ringed  in  by  the  sea, 
except  at  the  western  end,  where  there  is  a  narrow 
strip  of  kauri  forest,  which  links  it  with  the  main- 
land. 

Viewed  from  the  sea  the  Barrier  represents  the  ap- 
pearance of  an  exact  cone,  up  to  within  fifty  yards  of 
its  summit.  There  the  sloping  ends.  Beyond,  it  is 
treeless,  and  as  bare  and  bald  as  the  crown  of  a  friar ; 
otherwise  the  sides  of  the  giant  guardian  of  Maoriland 
are  densely  wooded  to  the  water's  edge. 


FERNBROOK.  13 

Singular,  indeed,  betimes,  is  the  treeless  summit. 
Seamed  and  scarred,  its  surface  is  mottled  with  a  dark 
glaze,  which,  during  the  sunlight,  and  even  under  the 
mellower  beams  of  the  moon,  gives  forth  a  coruscation, 
as  if  the  lights  were  reflected  from  scale  armor.  Riven 
rocks,  with  deep  yawning  chasms,  are  everywhere 
around  it,  and  the  strange  glow  is  over  all.  No 
northern  painter  in  primeval  day  ever  dreamed  of 
forms  so  mighty,  so  grotesque,  as  seem  to  look  down 
upon  you  from  the  rocks  around.  It  requires  only  a 
very  meagre  stretch  of  the  imagination  to  people  these 
heights  and  depths  with  a  race  of  Titans,  to  conjure 
up  the  sculptor  at  his  work,  rude  though  it  may  be, 
after  all  the  countless  ages  that  have  passed. 

On  the  southern  side  of  the  Barrier,  and  within  a 
mile  of  that  narrow  neck  of  earth  which  joins  the 
great  rock  to  the  mainland,  stood  a  large  and  solidly- 
built  mansion.  Its  position  was  a  broad  sloping  ridge, 
which  ran  parallel  with  the  base  of  the  mount  for  more 
than  half  its  entire  length,  overlooking  a  lovely  valley. 
The  architectural  style  of  this  building  was  almost  as 
quaint  and  as  strong  as  the  natural  walls  of  rocks  sur- 
rounding it. 

Thirty  years  previous  to  the  opening  of  this  story, 
Colonel  Harry  Fernbrook — a  handsome,  dashing  spend- 
thrift, who  had  run  through  a  large  fortune  hi  London 
— sold  his  commission,  and  with  the  money  emigrated 
to  New  Zealand  and  purchased  the  Barrier  Rock  and 
adjacent  land  from  old  Te  Huri,  the  Maori  chieftain, 
and  there  made  his  future  home. 

The  Colonel,  who  was  a  bachelor,  had  not  been  set- 
tled over  a  twelvemonth  at  the  Rock  ere  he  fell  in  love 
with  and  married  Myra  Hilton,  a  half-caste  Maori  girl 
of  great  beauty  and  an  heiress  to  immense  wealth. 


14          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

One  son  only  was  the  issue  of  this  marriage,  Hilton 
Fernbrook.  The  boy  was  sixteen  years  old  when  he 
lost  his  parents  by  a  boating  accident  off  the  Barrier 
during  a  squall,  and  the  responsibility  of  the  youth's 
personal  welfare  devolved  upon  Rita — a  tall,  silent 
Maori  woman,  who  had  been  Mrs.  Fernbrook's  nurse 
and  chief  domestic. 

A  bold,  weird-looking  landscape  is  this  around  the 
Barrier  Rock,  with  its  glistening  pinnacles,  its  far-re- 
ceding peaks,  and  downs  of  worn  rock,  with  the  set- 
ting sun  full  upon  them — and  lighting  up  many  a 
gloomy  dell  below.  Here  where  the  sun  glinted  upon 
the  face  of  the  cliff,  an  Iris  might  be  seen  shining 
amidst  the  fleece-like  vapor,  but  rarely  did  human  eye 
behold  this  beautiful  phenomenon,  for  the  place  had 
the  reputation  of  being  haunted. 

Few  there  are  in  our  day  who  believe  in  ghosts. 
This  go-ahead  era  of  telephones  and  telegraphs  has 
grown  out  of  all  that.  We  have  become  too  matter- 
of-fact  and  practical  for  such  humbug.  Nevertheless, 
he  was  a  bold  fellow  who  would  venture  alone  into  the 
dim  and  dismal  region  of  that  ravine  and  not  feel  the 
influence  of  the  place  upon  his  nerves. 

It  was  evident  some  daring  mortal  had  ignored  the 
peril,  for  a  tiny  spiral  column  of  smoke  could  be  seen 
ascending  from  the  haunted  depths  of  the  ravine  up- 
wards to  where  a  kind  of  stairway  was  traced  formed 
of  creepers,  the  outstanding  stems  serving  as  steps. 
s  It  was  only  by  standing  upon  the  very  outer  ledge 
above,  and  parting  the  foliage  that  screened  it,  that 
the  smoke  could  be  seen;  and,  if  only  superficially 
observed,  it  might  easily  have  been  mistaken  for  a 
strong  waif  of  the  fog  that  floated  above  the  water- 
fall near  which  it  rose.  Closely  scrutinized,  however, 


FERNBROOK.  15 

its  blue  color  and  soft  filmy  haze  rendered  it  recogniz- 
able as  the  smoke  of  a  wood  fire,  and  one  that  must 
have  been  ignited  by  human  hands.  Under  the 
branches  of  a  large  kauri  tree  standing  by  the  edge  of 
the  lagoon,  a  canoe  of  rude  construction  was  moored 
by  a  twisted  piece  of  supple-jack  attached  to  the  tree. 
Nor  was  this  the  only  indication  of  the  presence  of  man. 
Close  under  the  cliff,  and  near  where  the  torrent  came 
tumbling  down  from  the  rocks,  stood  a  kauri  pine  of 
enormous  dimensions.  Its  buttressed  trunk  covered 
a  surface  of  more  than  forty  feet  in  diameter,  and  the 
bole  rose  nearly  to  the  brow  of  the  cliff,  with  a  thick 
foliage  upon  it  which  completely  shut  out  the  view 
overhead.  Beneath  it  stood  a  whare,  or  Maori  hut, 
constructed  of  flax  thongs  and  rushes,  with  a  door 
opening  out  to  the  path  up  the  rock.  Few  and  simple, 
indeed,  were  the  articles  of  furniture  in  this  primitive 
abode.  A  couch  made  from  two  poles,  interlaced  with 
flax  and  fern  thereon,  formed  a  bed,  a  sheet  of  bark 
placed  upon  four  stakes  for  a  table,  and  a  kauri  log  for 
a  seat.  Save  an  old  tin  kettle  and  one  or  two  utensils, 
there  was  nothing  else  in  the  establishment  in  the  way 
of  goods  and  chattels.  Against  the  walls  hung  a  vari- 
ety of  singular  objects.  The  skull  and  tusks  of  a  boar, 
enormous  bats  with  human-like  faces,  snakes,  strings 
of  teeth  and  beads,  and  quaint  images  carved  in  wood. 
Squatting  by  the  door  of  the  whare  was  a  Maori, 
smoking  a  short,  black,  clay  pipe.  He  was  of  gigantic 
proportions,  and  frightfully  tattooed  over  every  part  of 
his  face.  Between  his  broad  shoulders  was  set  a  bull- 
like  head,  almost  neckless.  This  personage  was  evi- 
dently waiting  and  watching  for  the  appearance  of 
someone  expected  by  way  of  the  cliff,  for  at  the  slight- 
est sound  he  would  crane  himself  and  listen  attentively. 


16          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

At  such  times  his  back  was  bent  like  a  bow,  present- 
ing a  great  hunch,  partly  the  effect  of  advanced  age  and 
partly  from  natural  malformation. 

The  Maori's  costume  was  in  keeping  with  his  abode. 
A  short,  thick  taiiiba  of  mica,  jack-boots  (much  worn), 
together  with  a  blanket  formed  into  a  toga,  completed 
his  costume.  At  his  hand  stood  a  double-barrelled  gun, 
with  shot-bag,  manufactured  from  the  skin  of  some  wild 
animal. 

Whoever  the  individual  might  be  for  whom  the  old 
Maori  watched  and  waited,  he  did  not  appear  to  hurry, 
for  the  sun  began  to  dip  into  the  sea  away  beyond 
the  Tonga  Reef  ere  the  expected  personage  made  his 
appearance. 

In  the  fast  deepening  twilight  the  form  of  a  man  ap- 
peared at  the  apex  of  the  cliff,  who  gave  a  peculiar  cry, 
in  imitation  of  the  toho ;  the  Maori  below  sprang  to 
his  feet  immediately  at  the  sound,  and  began  climbing 
up  the  face  of  the  jagged  rock  with  astonishing  rapidity. 
The  lagoon  reached,  he  unfastened  the  canoe  from  its 
moorings  and  paddled  across  to  where  the  man  stood 
for  whom  he  had  been  waiting.  There  was  just  light 
sufficient  to  see  that  this  latter  individual  was  a  little, 
hardy-looking  man,  young,  and  with  a  form  as  lithe  and 
supple  as  an  eel.  His  face,  though  bearing  no  particu- 
lar indications  of  masculine  beauty,  denoted  both  dar- 
ing and  cunning  in  a  remarkable  degree;  otherwise 
there  was  nothing  to  distinguish  the  man  from  any 
ordinary  mortal  except  when  he  opened  his  mouth 
— then  one  felt  a  disagreeable  sensation,  such  as  may 
be  felt  at  the  growl  of  a  panther  or  the  croak  of  a 
raven. 

In  a  very  short  time  the  pair  recrossed  the  lagoon 
and  descended  the  cliff.  Not  a  word  passed  between 


FERNBROOK.  17 

them  till  they  reached  the  hut ;  there  the  Pakeha  threw 
himself  upon  the  rude  couch,  and  emitted  a  long  whistle 
of  relief. 

"  So,  this  is  the  Great  Barrier,  is  it  ?  "  he  cried,  with, 
a  mild  irony  in  his  unpleasant  voice.  "  I  guess  I've 
seen  some  few  places  on  the  globe  besides  New  Zea- 
land, but  hang  me  as  high,  Captain  Bragge,  if  I  ever 
saw  anything  to  compare  with  this.  There  isn't  a  level 
yard  of  terra firma  on  the  entire  rock.  If  one  wants 
to  go  over  the  way  to  visit  one's  neighbor,  although 
there  are  no  neighbors  hereabouts  that  I  can  see,  you 
can't  do  it  under  five  or  six  miles'  climbing.  Give  me 
a  match,  Bosco." 

The  huge  Maori  grinned,  and  at  the  same  time 
handed  his  white  companion  a  curiously-carved  box 
containing  vestas. 

"  Now,  old  fellow,  I'm  going  to  rest  here  for  half  an 
hour,"  continued  the  little  man,  lighting  a  cigar,  and 
handing  another  to  his  companion.  "  In  the  meantime, 
I  want  you  to  see  that  the  gear  is  put  into  the  boat  all 
ready  for  a  start." 

"  What,  to-night  ?  "  inquired  the  Maori. 

"  To-night,  Bosco.  The  moon  will  be  up  in  an  hour. 
We  will  sail  when  there  is  light  enough,  if  you  please.'' 

The  herculean  savage  gave  a  grunt  peculiar  to  the 
Maori  race,  lit  his  cigar,  and  left  the  hut.  The  other  sat 
and  smoked  in  silence  for  some  time,  until  his  thoughts 
found  vent  in  audible  mutterings.  "  Egad,  this  is  going 
the  ticket  and  no  mistake,"  he  cried,  taking  the  cigar 
from  his  lips  and  apostrophizing  the  curling  smoke 
above  his  head.  "  Here  am  I,  Timothy  Sharpe  alias  the 
"  Ferret,"  and  Valet  de  Sham  to  His  Greatness  Mr. 
Hilton  Fernbrook,  Lord  of  the  Barrier  Rock ;  here  am 
I,  ambassador,  courier,  forerunner  and  what  not,  to 
2 


18          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

herald  the  approach  of  my  boss — master,  I  mean — to 
this  his  home,  after  an  absence  of  five  years  spent  in 
England  and  on  the  continent  of  Europe.  Ha !  ha  !  it's 
rare  fun  to  be  a  gentleman,  and  to  do  the  grand  tour, 
as  the  boss  and  I  have  done  it  for  these  years  past. 
Ha!  ha!" 

And  the  idea  so  tickled  the  risible  faculties  of  the 
little  man  that  he  rolled  off  the  bunk  in  a  fit  of  uncon- 
trollable merriment.  "  Well,  well ;  I've  done  my  mis- 
sion here  satisfactorily,  at  any  rate,"  he  observed,  when 
he  had  somewhat  recovered  himself.  "  One  trump  card 
played,  which  will  go  far  to  win  the  game  if  properly 
followed  up.  Now,  let  me  glance  once  more  over  my  in- 
structions to  make  sure  I  have  missed  nothing.  Firstly, 
to  give  Bosco  the  Maori  a  half-dozen  lines  scribbled  in 
such  an  outlandish  fashion  that  old  Nick  himself  couldn't 
have  read  it ;  the  Maori  read  it,  though,  and  deuced 
glad  and  pleased  he  seemed  after  it ;  placed  himself  at 
once  entirely  at  my  disposal,  and  he  put  the  missive 
away  in  his  dirty  blanket  as  if  it  had  been  the  Koh-i- 
noor.  Secondly,  received  at  the  house  when  I  got  there, 
and  devilish  tired  I  felt  too,  scraping  my  shins  against 
the  sharp,  steep  rocks — received  at  the  house  with  open 
arms,  and  especially  by  that  tall,  dark  old  she-cat,  Rita, 
the  housekeeper.  What  an  eye  she  has,  and  what  long 
claws  for  scratching !  Humph !  Ferret,  you  rascal, 
beware  of  that  Maori  devil  in  petticoats.  How  her 
withered  face  lighted  up  when  I  told  her  that  Master 
Hilton  was  coming  home !  Ah,  well !  if  the  place  does 
not  suit  you,  Timothy  Sharpe,  you  can  give  notice — ha ! 
ha !  Lastly,  I  am  not  to  delay  my  return ;  very  well, 
Mr.  Hilton  Fernbrook.  The  wind  is  fair  for  our  sixty- 
mile  journey,  and  I'm  glad  it  is  so,  for  an  open  fishing- 
boat  is  not  the  safest  and  most  comfortable  conveyance 


FERNBROOK.  19 

on  the  coast  of  New  Zealand  on  a  dark  night,  and  with 
a  chopping  sea  on.  Entre  nous.  Ferret,  if  the  wind 
holds,  the  Master  of  Fernbrook  shall  see  the  face  of  his 
humble  servant  ere  to-morrow's  dawn."' 

"  Who's  there  ? "  The  harsh  voice  croaked  out  the 
latter  exclamation  fiercely,  and  at  the  same  instant 
a  revolver  was  pulled  forth  from  the  breast  of  the  but- 
toned-up  coat. 

"Bah!  It's  only  Bosco  returning,"  he  cried,  after 
an  intense  pause.  "This  infernal  den  of  peaks  and 
chasms  would  unnerve  the  devil  himself." 

He  had  only  time  to  replace  the  weapon  in  his  coat 
when  the  Maori  re-entered  the  whare. 

"  Well,  is  the  boat  ready  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Come  then,  lead  the  way,  Bosco,"  cried  the  other, 
rising,  and  lighting  a  fresh  cigar.  "  My  master  gave 
me  positive  orders  to  be  back  again  at  Pukehini  by  to- 
morrow morning." 

The  old  Maori  took  his  gun,  and  after  securing  the 
door  of  his  whare,  led  the  way  down  the  ridge  of  the 
ravine  in  silence.  It  was  a  perilous  path,  even  to  those 
who  were  acquainted  with  its  intricate  windings ;  but 
Bosco,  who,  old  as  he  was,  had  been  born  and  reared 
in  its  vicinity,  guided  his  companion  safely  to  the 
western  ledge,  overlooking  the  sea. 

In  a  small  circular-shaped  inlet,  completely  hid  by 
the  high  overhanging  cliffs  above  it,  a  goodly-sized 
yawl  was  seen  rising  and  falling  witn  the  motion  of 
the  waves. 

The  Ferret  and  his  companion  embarked.  After 
they  had  cleared  the  cove  a  large  lug-sail  was  hoisted, 
which,  catching  the  breeze,  sent  the  boat  along  at  the 
rate  of  six  or  seven  knots  an  hour.  The  Maori  held 


20          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

the  helm,  and  steered  for  a  promontory  opposite  the 
Barrier,  but  far  away  in  the  distance,  and  on  which  a 
tiny  speck  of  light  shone  over  the  dark  waters.  For 
over  an  hour  there  was  a  dead  silence  between  these 
men ;  then  the  Maori  spoke. 

"  Is  the  Master  not  well,  that  he  has  sent  you  to  re- 
port his  arrival  ?  Why  did  he  stay  at  Pukehini  ?  " 

"Ah!  that's  it,  Bosco,"  replied  Sharpe,  evasively. 
"  Masters  do  not  always  consult  their  servants  as  to 
what  they  intend  to  do.  They  order,  and  we  obey. 
You  will  have  an  opportunity  of  asking  the  boss  that 
same  question  two  or  three  hours  hence ;  perhaps  he 
may  answer  you  in  a  more  satisfactory  manner  than  I 
can.  One  reason,  no  doubt,  is  that  he  has  not  been 
very  well.  The  voyage  was  a  rough  one,  and  Master 
Hilton  is  a  bad  sailor." 

The  Maori  gave  an  unmistakable  grunt  of  dissent. 
"  The  young  eaglet  always  loved  the  sea,"  he  said,  in 
his  quiet  tone.  "  Many  a  time  has  he  tempted  me  forth 
with  bribes  of  tobacco  when  the  winds  roared,  and  the 
waters  were  white  with  foam.  Hilton  Fernbrook  hath 
changed  indeed  if  the  rocking  of  a  great  ship  taketh 
away  his  health  and  strength." 

"  Bosco,  you  are  a  Maori,  and  therefore  cannot  un- 
derstand the  changes  which  may  come  to  one  by 
travelling.  The  Master  of  Fernbrook  has  been  absent 
five  years." 

"Tut!  Twenty  years  cannot  change  men's  likes 
and  dislikes,"  replied  Bosco. 

"  Argued  like  a  Maori,"  cried  the  Ferret,  laughing 
his  discordant  laugh.  "  The  boss  is  not  changed  a  bit, 
spite  of  all  the  queer  things  he  has  seen.  He  loves 
old  Rita  and  Bosco,  and  bears  in  his  regard  all  the  old 
domestics  who  served  his  father  before  him." 


FERNBROOK.  21 

"  Ah !  Bosco  loves  the  boy,"  grunted  the  old  fellow, 
in  a  mollified  tone.  "  When  he  was  no  higher  than 
this  thwart,  I  marked  him  with  the  eagle  of  Te  Papa. 
Let  him  travel  where  he  may,  he  will  remember 
Bosco." 

"  Certainly !  Now  I  think  of  it,  there  is  a  tattoo- 
mark  on  my  master's  left  shoulder." 

"  Nay,  the  eagle  is  upon  his  breast,"  cried  the  Maori, 
quickly. 

"  Of  course,  old  man.  What  am  I  thinking  about  ? 
responded  the  Ferret.  "See  yonder;  what  light  is 
that?"  he  added  suddjily,  pointing  to  a  red  glare 
shining  athwart  the,  prow  of  the  cutter. 

"  That  is  the  Point  Light,"  answered  his  companion. 
"  From  that  peak  in  is  twenty  miles  to  Pukehini." 

"  Good !  Here,  take  a  nip  out  of  this  flask.  Master 
Hilton  will  reward  you  handsomely  for  this  job, 
Bosco." 


22          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 


CHAPTER  II. 

PAX     IN     BELLO. 

A  GOLDEN  morning,  and  such  a  one  as  one  only  sees 
about  half  a  dozen  times  during  a  New  Zealand  au- 
tumn. The  sun  glinting  in  upon  the  large  dining-hall 
at  Fernbrook  flashed  back  a  thousandfold  reflections 
from  picture  and  mirror,  and  from  the  costly  glassware 
and  plate  scattered  profusely  over  the  table.  It  is  a 
noble  hall,  and  of  vast  dimensions.  Its  fittings  and 
furniture  are  mostly  of  Maori  wood,  dark  in  hue,  but 
massive  in  their  character,  and  polished  like  English 
oak. 

Looking  round  this  apartment,  the  idea  comes  to  you 
that  the  architect  who  built  Fernbrook  had  erected 
a  feudal  castle,  and  supplied  it  with  all  the  modern 
improvements  and  embellishments  of  the  nineteenth 
century. 

A  glorious  morning,  indeed,  the  warm  sunlight  illu- 
minating spacious  courts  and  galleries  with  its  mellow 
glow ;  but  on  yonder  balcony — where  a  regiment  of 
the  line  might  parade  with  ease — what  a  view  !  Be- 
neath, sward  and  lake,  and  giant  kauri  forest,  dim  and 
dark,  set  in  the  midst  of  a  sea  of  sapphires.  East, 
west,  and  south,  ocean  and  mountain,  and  overhead 
the  deep  blue  arch  of  heaven. 

Within  a  grand  chamber  leading  from  this  balcony, 
and  known  as  the  dra whig- room  at  Fernbrook,  several 
persons  were  assembled  on  this  fine  autumnal  morn- 
ing. The  room  itself  was  a  long,  wide  apartment, 


PAX  IN  BELLO.  23 

worthy  of  a  palace,  with  bay  windows  deep  and  roomy 
as  the  embrasures  of  a  fort,  and  curtained  with  maroon 
velvet.  Rare  pictures  on  the  walls ;  exquisite  statu- 
ettes in  bronze  and  Parian  marble ;  silken  couches,  ex- 
hibiting elegant  taste  in  the  blending  of  colors ; — in 
short,  all  that  could  charm  the  eye,  educate  the  taste, 
or  give  comfort  to  aesthetic  senses,  found  an  appro- 
priate place  here. 

Near  to  an  open  window,  upon  the  sill  of  which 
rested  a  tiny  silver  cage,  a  lady  was  employed  feeding 
a  canary.  She  was  a  superbly  beautiful  woman,  not 
more  than  twenty- three  years  of  age  ;  tall  and  com- 
manding in  her  proportions,  she  appeared  the  breath- 
ing personification  of  that  lovely  dream  sculptured  by 
the  famous  Hiram  Power.  Her  face  was  the  splendid, 
passionate,  glowing  face  of  a  Cleopatra,  and  there  was 
that  in  the  well-shaped  brow,  eyes,  mouth,  and  lips, 
which  betokened  mind  and  culture  of  a  very  high  order. 
Magnificent  in  person,  lovely  in  face,  Lady  Blanche 
Trevor  was  also  as  fascinating  in  manner  as  one  of  the 
fabled  sirens  of  old. 

Within  the  folding  doorway  close  by  stood  this 
lady's  father,  Major  the  Honorable  Bob  Trevor,  M.P. 
The  Major  had  been  twenty  years  in  the  colony,  was  a 
member  of  the  Ministry,  owned  many  broad  acres,  and 
a  fine  country  residence  on  the  Waikato.  Men  said 
the  Honorable  Robert  Trevor  was  haughty  and  dis- 
tant even  to  his  most  intimate  friends,  but  it  was  con- 
ceded, at  the  same  time,  that  the  Major  had  a  kind, 
sympathetic  soul  underlying  his  reserve  of  manner. 
Standing  here  in  the  full  glow  of  the  sunlight,  the 
member  for  West  Auckland  presented  the  appearance 
of  a  tall,  stately  soldier,  handsome  yet,  though  sixty 
years  had  passed  over  him. 


24          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  room,  and  almost  hidden 
by  the  thick  drapery  of  the  window,  stood  a  young 
Maori  girl,  gazing  out  upon  the  landscape  beyond.  It 
would  have  been  difficult  perhaps  even  in  Maoriland, 
where  the  female  form  retains  in  an  eminent  degree  the 
faultless  outline  and  exquisite  roundness  of  the  primeval 
race,  to  find  a  form  so  beautifully  perfect.  She  was 
adorned  in  a  costume  which  lent  additional  grace  to  her 
dark  and  resplendent  beauty.  Encircling  her  glossy 
raven  hair  a  chaplet  of  white  flowers  shaded  the  oval 
features,  delicate  and  pure  as  those  of  a  Spanish  gypsy. 
A  loose  robe,  woven  from  the  finest  mica  flax,  girded 
at  the  waist  with  a  girdle  of  curious  shells,  gave  the 
girl  a  picturesque  appearance  when  contrasted  with  the 
costly  morning  robe  worn  by  Lady  Blanche  Trevor. 
It  was  not  the  costume,  however,  which  engaged  your 
attention.  It  was  the  face.  Poet  nor  painter  ever 
dreamed  of  anything  so  spirituelle,  so  gentle,  meek,  and 
tender.  It  was  the  face  of  a  beautiful  woman,  uncon- 
scious of  her  beauty,  and  with  eyes  through  which  the 
soul  seemed  to  be  gazing  for  the  first  time  in  much 
amazement  and  surprise  at  this  wondrous  but  wicked 
world.  For  the  information  of  those  who  are  about  to 
visit  Europe,  let  them  go  to  the  Moorish  city  of  Taugiers : 
within  the  walls  of  the  Delgardo  they  will  see  a  picture 
of  Isabel  de  Masquin,  the  famous  beauty  and  the  heroine 
of  Telba.  Here  it  seemed  as  if  that  old  painting  had 
walked  out  of  its  gilded  frame,  and  stood  transformed 
in  the  living,  breathing  image  of  Te  Coro,  the  niece  of 
Rita,  the  dark,  stern  housekeeper  at  Fernbrook. 

The  Maori  girl  had  never  known  any  parent  but  her 
aunt.  Te  Papa,  her  father,  a  renowned  chieftain,  had 
lost  his  lands  and  his  life  in  an  uprising  against  the 
Pakeha.  The  orphan  baby  had  been  brought  to  the 


PAX  IN  BELLO.  25 

Barrier  Rock  by  a  trusty  messenger  from  the  shattered 
tribe  of  the  slain  chief.  She  was  only  two  years  old 
then,  but  the  close,  reserved  Rita  loved  the  wee  thing 
for  the  sake  of  the  unfortunate  brother. 

At  sixteen,  Te  Coro  was  not  only  beautiful  in  person, 
but,  thanks  to  her  relative,  cultured  in  mind.  She 
early  showed  a  passion  for  music,  which  was  indulged 
to  the  utmost  extent  by  her  friend  Blanche  Trevor  and 
her  father  among  others.  Strange  to  say,  the  beautiful 
Maori  could  not  be  induced  to  adopt  the  Pakeha  fashion 
of  dress,  though  she  was  English  in  everything  else, 
save  blood  and  name.  Perhaps  the  aunt  had  influenced 
her  niece  to  the  contrary.  Who  shall  say  ? 

Dark,  cool,  and  inscrutable,  sat  the  tall  figure  of  the 
Maori  nurse  by  the  huge  fireplace ;  three  parts  of  a 
century  had  she  seen,  and  although  it  had  whitened  her 
once  thick  black  hair,  and  had  left  deep  wrinkles  all 
over  her  strong  face,  it  had  not  dimmed  the  latent  fire 
of  the  dark  eyes,  or  retarded  the  freedom  of  her  move- 
ments. Rita  had  nursed  Mrs.  Fernbrook  when  a  baby, 
had  held  the  Colonel's  wife  in  her  arms  when  Hilton 
first  saw  the  light  of  day,  and  when  that  dire  catas- 
trophe came  which  deprived  the  youth  of  both  his 
parents,  Rita  had  vowed  in  her  heart  to  watch  over 
him  till  death. 

Over  by  the  piano  yonder  lounges  that  same  Hilton 
Fernbrook,  toying  with  the  long  ears  of  my  Lady  Tre- 
vor's King  Charles.  He  was  a  trifle  over  twenty-one 
when  he  started  on  the  grand  tour,  and  he  has  been 
absent  about  five  years — so  the  Major  says,  who  has  a 
good  memory  for  dates.  Looking  attentively  at  the 
young  man,  you  observe  he  is  the  image  of  that  splen- 
did portrait  in  oils,  hanging  on  the  opposite  wall,  The 
painting  was  executed  before  Hilton  Fernbrook  left  for 


26          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

his  trip  abroad,  but  there  is  no  mistaking  the  likeness. 
Over  the  face  of  the  prodigal  the  lines  are  beginning  to 
show  clearly,  and  the  deep  black  moustache  is  much 
fuller  than  in  the  portrait ;  nevertheless,  it  is  the  same 
face.  No  second  glance  is  needed  to  determine  that — 
a  face  once  seen  not  to  be  easily  forgotten.  In  all,  a 
very  handsome  man ;  dark,  certainly,  with  his  strain  of 
Maori  blood,  yet  with  the  form  and  thews  of  an  athlete. 
In  his  very  ease  there  is  intellectual  predominance,  born 
of  that  self-same  reliance  which  an  unusual  degree  of 
physical  power  is  apt  to  bestow.  Something  there  had 
been — mental  labor,  perchance,  in  sickness — which  had 
evidently  left  its  mark  upon  him ;  but  it  had  in  no  way 
diminished  his  rare  muscular  force.  A  man  pre- 
eminently to  be  selected  from  his  fellows  for  feats  of 
activity  and  strength.  You  could  see  the  sense  of  a 
robust  and  strong  individuality,  strong  alike  in  dis- 
ciplined reason  and  animal  vigor,  pervade  his  every 
movement.  A  man  habituated  to  aid  others,  needing 
no  aid  for  himself.  It  was  not  the  strong  supple  form  of 
this  young  man  that  engaged  your  attention  so  much  as 
his  face.  The  first  thing  noticeable  in  it,  as  a  whole,  was 
the  unmistakable  sign  of  a  will  inexorable.  No  one 
looking  at  his  eyes  could  deny  their  power  of  attraction. 
Large,  bright  and,  when  roused  into  action,  scintillating 
like  those  of  some  wild  beast — it  was  their  very  fascina- 
tion which  drew  you  as  a  loadstone  to  the  man,  spite 
of  either  antipathy  or  hate.  A  disciple  of  PuysSgur  or 
Mesmer  would  have  acknowledged  in  the  Master  of 
Fernbrook  a  mighty  clairvoyant,  gifted  abundantly 
with  magnetic  influence,  and  that  subtle  force  which 
holds  the  will  of  others  in  complete  subjugation. 
Watch  him  lounging  in  cosy  indolence ;  the  brute  he  is 
toying  with  shows  its  dislike  and  its  white  teeth,  but 


PAX  IN  BELLO.  27 

it  does  not  bite  him,  nor  move  from  his  reach.  Why  ? 
Because  it  cannot.  See,  when  he  raises  his  full  arched 
eyes  to  that  bright  young  face  by  the  window.  Te 
Coro  is  fully  twenty  paces  from  him,  with  her  gaze 
fixed  in  quite  the  opposite  direction ;  but  she  turns 
suddenly,  and  meets  the  magnetizing  glance  only  to 
dye  the  soft  cheek  with  a  maidenly  blush.  The  myste- 
rious force  is  so  strong  in  him  that  even  the  Colonel, 
schooled  as  he  is  in  the  art  of  sang-froid,  feels  its  power, 
must  fidget,  turn  and  gaze  at  his  young  friend  with  a 
curious  gleam  in  his  look,  puff  more  fiercely  at  his 
cheroot,  and  conduct  himself  in  a  way  altogether  foreign 
to  the  quiet  gentlemanly  fashion  for  which  he  is  famed. 

There  is  one  person  present,  however,  who  does  not 
appear  in  any  way  disturbed  by  the  magnetic  power  of 
Hilton  Fernbrook.  Let  him  turn  his  swift  glances 
upon  old  Rita  as  he  may,  they  have  no  effect  upon  her. 
The  Maori  dame  sits  quietly  knitting.  It  is  almost 
her  sole  occupation  now.  Betimes  she  raises  her 
stately  head  to  look  his  way,  and  as  she  does  so  the 
smile  fades  from  her  withered  face,  and  the  black  eyes 
grow  hard  and  cold. 

The  breakfast  bell  peals  out  by  and  by,  and  the 
guests  prepare  to  descend  to  the  dining-hall.  There 
had  been  that  quiet  pause  amongst  the  company  which 
usually  precedes  either  of  the  chief  meals  of  the  day, 
and  especially  if  the  party  happen  to  be  hungry. 

Hilton  Fernbrook  rises  and  goes  to  the  window 
where  Te  Coro  stands,  and  offers  the  Maori  his  arm. 
With  a  shy  upward  look  at  his  dark,  smiling  face,  the 
girl  accepts  the  proffered  courtesy,  and  the  pair  go 
down  the  broad  stairway  together,  the  others  follow- 
ing them. 

"  Don't  you  think  there  is  a  marked  change  in  Mr. 


28          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

Fernbrook,  Dad?"  whispers  the  Lady  Blanche  to  the 
Major,  on  whose  arm  she  is  leaning. 

The  father  pauses  and  looks  steadily  at  his  daughter. 
"  My  dear  Blanche,  *  Mr.'  is  a  rather  cold  term  to 
apply  to  one  who  was  your  schoolfellow,  and  is  to  be 
your  husband,"  he  answers  in  the  same  tone.  "In 
what  manner  is  our  young  friend  changed  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,  sir ;  but  there  is  a  difference  in 
the  Hilton  Fernbrook  who  left  New  Zealand  five  years 
ago  and  the  gentleman  who  has  returned  to  us,"  she 
replies  gravely.  "  You  ask,  where  is  the  change  ? — in 
what?  That,  I  repeat,  I  cannot  tell  you;  but  it  is 
there  to  me  plain  enough." 

"  Tut,  a  woman's  whim,"  says  the  Major,  moving 
forward.  "  Your  ladyship  was  always  crotchety,  from 
a  baby.  I  see  no  difference  in  the  son  of  my  old  friend, 
save,  perhaps,  that  he  has  grown  more  manly,  and 
that  five  years'  travel  and  study  have  improved  both 
the  inner  and  the  outer  man  in  a  surprising  manner." 

"Dear  Dad,  I  do  not  mean  to  imply  that  our  newly- 
returned  host  is  other  than  Hilton  Fernbrook,"  she 
answers,  with  a  smile.  "  What  I  do  mean  is  that  the 
youth  who  left  this  Rock  five  years  ago  has  changed 
his  nature  without  having  altered  either  in  face  or  form. 
When  I  look  at  him,  it  seems  to  me  as  if  other  and 
sinister  eyes  gazed  back  at  me  through  the  face  of  my 
young  friend  and  playmate.  Do  you  understand  ?  " 

"In  good  sooth,  I  do  not,"  responded  the  Honor- 
able Bob,  somewhat  testily.  "  Early  rising  evidently 
does  not  agree  with  you,  Blanche.  Try  a  cutlet  and 
a  cup  of  cocoa.  Fasting  is  not  good,  it  brings  in  its 
train  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  morbid  fancies. 
Come  to  me  after  breakfast,  and  we  can  talk  the 
matter  over." 


PAX  IN  BELLO.  29 

A  noble  dining-hall,  truly.  At  the  head  of  the  mas- 
sive table  stood  a  high-backed  chair,  carved  in  Maori 
fashion.  Above  all  other  races  on  the  globe,  the  New 
Zealanders  are  undoubtedly  the  most  expert  in  this 
art.  Te  Waito,  the  sire  of  the  famous  Rewi,  spent 
three  hours  a  day  on  the  average  for  a  period  of 
twenty  years  on  a  figure  of  wood,  now  in  the  hands  of 
a  certain  Interpreter.  Many  years  must  have  been 
spent  on  the  grotesque  lines  and  fine  tracery  exhibited 
on  this  chair,  ere  it  came  into  the  possession  of  Colonel 
Fernbrook.  It  was  a  gift  from  a  friendly  chieftain 
years  ago,  and  had  neither  joint  nor  nail  in  its  con- 
struction. 

For  just  one  instant  the  son  of  Colonel  Fernbrook 
paused  before  he  took  his  seat  therein — paused  irreso- 
lutely, as  if  in  doubt,  or  fear,  or  both.  The  hungry  com- 
pany heeded  no  such  trivial  circumstance,  but  began 
a  vigorous  attack  upon  the  good  things  before  them. 

There  were  not  wanting  toasts  and  neat  speeches  in 
honor  of  the  wanderer's  return,  even  at  the  early 
meal.  If  cordial  greetings  and  flattering  words  of 
welcome  went  for  anything  then,  the  Master  of  Fern- 
brook  had  cause  to  be  proud  of  such  favorable  tokens 
of  good-will  from  his  friends  and  neighbors.  These, 
by  the  way,  had  received  intimation  of  his  coming  a 
week  previously,  and  were  congregated  at  the  Barrier 
to  give  him  welcome. 

The  recipient  of  all  these  courtesies  took  them  very 
coolly.  He  performed  the  honors  of  the  table  with 
perfect  ease  and  dignity.  Travel  had  certainly  changed 
the  man  in  this  respect,  inasmuch  as  Hilton  Fernbrook 
at  nineteen  was  both  awkward  in  manner  and  as  shy 
in  disposition  as  any  unsophisticated  village  wench. 

There  were  many  amongst  the  guests  assembled  to 


30          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

do  honor  to  the  owner  of  Fernbrook  Hall  who  had 
been  on  the  most  intimate  terms  with  him,  besides  the 
Major  and  his  charming  daughter.  Foremost  was 
Ralph  Warne,  son  of  the  head  of  the  firm  of  Thomas 
Warne  &  Co.,  Bankers.  The  estate  of  the  Warnes 
joined  the  Barrier  Rock  property,  hence  the  two  boys 
had  been  inseparable  friends  from  childhood.  A  fine, 
strapping,  active  fellow,  this  young  Warne,  and  of  the 
true  Saxon  breed.  He  had  been  a  term  or  two  at 
Auckland,  and  returned  quite  a  masher  of  the  first 
water.  To  stare  at  you  through  an  eyeglass,  though  it 
was  doubtful  if  he  could  see  at  all  by  means  of  it — to 
drawl  and  lisp  with  exquisite  slowness  when  speaking, 
and  to  decorate  his  handsome  person,  after  the  manner 
of  my  Lord  Chesterfield  on  state  days,  appeared  his 
sole  aim  and  occupation.  Ill-natured  people  said  he 
was  a  foolish  coxcomb,  with  more  money  than  brains ; 
but  ill-natured  people  do  not  always  utter  the  truth. 
It  was  certainly  true  that  the  banker's  heir  had  no  idea 
of  the  value  of  money.  He  would  have  been  a  plump 
pigeon  for  any  worldly  Captain  Hawkesley  to  pluck  ; 
but  there  were  very  few  of  that  ilk  in  the  vicinity  of 
the  Barrier.  Nevertheless,  a  keen  reader  of  men  would 
have  ruled  that  beneath  the  outer  network  of  affecta- 
tion young  Warne  was  not  such  a  fool  as  he  looked. 
The  wealthy  coxcomb  had  done  some  trifling  good 
with  his  money  at  times,  if  the  testimony  of  the  gentle- 
man seated  opposite  to  him  is  to  be  credited.  Alton 
Lyndhurst  is  a  poet  and  novelist.  He  has  a  faded  look, 
as  of  having  grown  pale,  for  lack  of  daylight.  He 
looks  as  if  he  had  worked  by  night,  and  lived  by  night, 
and  as  if  the  sunshine  and  fresh  air  were  a  new  sensa- 
tion to  him.  He  has  well-cut  features ;  but  the  out- 
line of  his  face  is  too  sharp  for  beauty — no  sculptor 


PAX  IN  BELLO.  31 

would  choose  him  for  Apollo  or  Antinous.  Large 
hazel  eyes,  bright  and  clear,  full  of  vivacity  and  ex- 
pression, redeem  the  defects  of  his  mobile  countenance. 
On  the  whole,  there  is  a  charm  in  his  face  from  the  in- 
finite variety  of  light  and  shade  to  be  observed  there- 
on. He  is  a  man  about  whom  people  rarely  make  up 
their  minds  all  at  once ;  a  man  who  improves  upon  closer 
acquaintance,  says  his  friend  Ralph  Warne. 

Time  was  when  young  Lyndhurst  had  to  support  a 
widowed  mother  by  writing  articles  for  newspapers 
and  magazines.  It  proved  a  pitiful  struggle,  for  the 
colony  was  not  by  any  means  a  reading  one.  By  the 
strictest  economy,  mother  and  son  managed  to  exist, 
however,  and  the  poor  disciple  of  letters  found  time 
to  bend  his  genius  to  more  ambitious  work.  He  be- 
came the  author  of  a  new  novel.  In  this  effort,  in  which 
every  hour  devoted  to  its  construction  had  been  a 
sacrifice,  the  author  had  striven  to  rise  out  of  his  old 
familiar  self  to  something  better.  Alas,  for  the  faith- 
ful work  and  the  lofty  aspirations !  The  book  was  a 
failure,  and  the  kindly  publisher  who  sent  it  forth  to 
the  world  was  almost  ruined  by  its  publication.  The 
Wellington  "  Exterminator,"  in  a  slashing  article  three 
columns  long,  fell  upon  the  ill-fated  work,  hip  and 
thigh.  Other  journals  of  less  magnitude  followed  in 
the  same  strain,  while  one  or  two  damned  the  volume 
with  faint  praise. 

By  some  means  the  disgraced  book  found  its  way 
into  the  hands  of  Ralph  Warne,  who  read  it  with  in- 
terest. Some  of  the  scenes  therein  depicted  were,  as 
it  were,  a  faithful  record  of  his  own  gay  life.  From 
that  moment  the  cloud  was  lifted  from  the  life  of  the 
unfortunate  Lyndhurst.  Unknown  to  the  writer,  the 
banker's  son  purchased  a  whole  edition  of  the  work 


32          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

for  distribution  amongst  his  friends.  It  finds  favor 
now,  because  it  has  had  the  stamp  of  fashion  set  upon 
it.  The  newspapers  may  rail  and  condemn  as  they 
please.  The  flat  has  gone  forth.  People  who  never 
read  a  romance  in  their  lives  read  this  one,  and  find 
much  therein  that  is  true — indeed,  that  some  parts  of 
it  fit  in  with  their  own  existence  "  to  a  T." 

The  book  brings  the  author  money  and — what  is 
infinitely  more  dear  to  him — -fame.  The  great  and 
wealthy  alike  are  proud  to  have  him  amongst  them. 

"  Who  is  your  friend  ?  "  asks  Mrs.  Morgan  Hardrith, 
a  widow  of  forty  or  thereabouts,  who  has  just  returned 
from  a  visit  to  her  late  husband's  relatives  in  Wales. 

The  exquisite  sprig  brings  his  eyeglass  to  bear  on 
the  fair  one,  and  replies,  in  his  slow  measured  accents, 
"  Oh,  ah,  that  gentleman  is  Lyndhurst." 

"  What,  Alton  Lyndhurst,  the  author  ?  " 

"Ya-as!" 

"I  have  read  his  book.  How  good-natured  he 
looks." 

"  Haw !  Did  you  expect  to  meet  a  laughing  hyena 
beneath  a  frock-coat,  Madam  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  expected.  He  writes  like  a 
man  who  despises  the  world  he  lives  in,  yet  there  is 
no  mistaking  the  broad  sympathy  in  every  sentiment." 

Young  Warne  stares  at  the  widow,  almost  rudely. 
"  I  know  nothing  of  sentiment,"  he  drawls.  "  It  is  a 
trick  of  the  trade,  no  doubt,  with  writers  to  preach 
sympathy.  It  does  no  harm,  however,  and  pleases  the 
ladies." 

"  Introduce  me." 

"  With  ple-shaw." 

The  conversation  becomes  general.  Heretofore  the 
heir  of  Fernbrook  had  been  the  focus  of  the  party. 


PAX  IN  BELLO.  33 

With  well-bred  hints  and  questions  pounding  in  upon 
him,  he  has  been  compelled  to  give  a  brief  resum$  of 
his  five  years'  wanderings,  and  he  has  done  his  task 
to  their  apparent  satisfaction.  There  are  people  here 
as  his  guests  who  are  delightful  social  butterflies : 
women  whose  fetish  is  fashion,  and  whose  religion  is 
dress ;  women  with  whom  to  waste  a  summer  after- 
noon at  kettledrum,  with  whom  to  dawdle  away  long 
evenings  in  a  country  house,  discussing  fashionable 
scandal,  or  the  last  new  thing  in  robes.  Men  there 
are,  too,  who  neither  toil  nor  moil ;  men  whose  clever, 
well-chosen  words  are  full  of  scathing  irony  for  the 
human  asses  who  delve  and  sweat,  and  rise  at  cock- 
crow. 

They  talk  about  literature,  Mrs.  Morgan  Hardrith 
expounding  primitive  opinions  in  that  can't-be-denied 
voice  of  hers.  Major  Trevor,  less  vehement,  but  more 
trenchant,  joins  issue,  and  there  is  a  brilliant  fence  of 
words  between  them,  until  the  sharper  edge  of  the 
woman's  wit  places  the  gallant  son  of  Mars  hors  de 
combat.  Rhoda  Hardrith,  heiress  and  belle  of  the 
season,  takes  up  the  running  in  lieu  of  her  mamma. 
The  favorite  poet  of  the  young  beauty  is  Byron.  She 
has  no  sympathy  with  Tennyson,  because  she  does  not 
understand  him.  "  The  Idylls  of  the  King  "  and  "  Love 
and  Duty "  are  so  much  Greek  to  her.  She  adores 
Fielding  and  Smollett.  If  the  latter  is  sometimes 
naughty,  he  has  also  the  power  of  making  amends  to 
his  readers  by  being  awfully  nice.  Alton  Lyndhurst 
sits  mute,  while  his  friend  Warne  fixes  his  eyeglass, 
and  smiles  sweetly  at  the  talkers.  So  the  meal  pro- 
gresses to  its  end. 
3 


34          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE     MESMERIST. 

THE  rigorous  winter  season  has  fairly  set  in.  There 
has  been  a  plethora  of  garden  parties,  balls,  hunts, 
and  what  not  for  the  frivolous  and  fashionable  during 
the  delightful  autumnal  weather.  Hitherto  Fernbrook 
has  never  seen  such  a  gathering  of  beauty,  of  vanity 
and  ugliness,  of  well-bred  men  and  vulgar  women, 
within  its  walls.  In  less  than  three  short  mouths  the 
Rock  has  become  more  famous  than  was  Almack's  in 
the  Jersey  and  Londonderry  days.  With  a  lavish 
prodigality,  Hilton  Fernbrook  has  made  his  house  al- 
together one  of  the  pleasantest  in  New  Zealand.  The 
demigods  of  society  crowd  his  rooms,  and  make  excur- 
sions round  his  bold  rugged  domain,  drink  his  wine, 
and  fill  the  place  with  mirth  and  revelry. 

Parliament  has  assembled,  and  the  Honorable  Bob 
Trevor  has  departed  for  town,  taking  the  Lady  Blanche 
along  with  him,  at  her  earnest  desire.  The  Major  and 
his  daughter  are  not  missed,  however,  from  the  throng 
of  guests  at  the  Barrier  Station.  Most  of  them  find  it 
quite  a  romance  in  real  life  to  spend  the  winter  here, 
in  this  old  mansion  where  betimes  the  wind  roars  so 
loudly,  and  where  the  angry  waves,  foam-crested,  break 
themselves  against  its  solid  base.  Some  of  them, 
Ralph  Warne  among  the  number,  have  determined 
that  the  long  dreary  evenings  shall  be  filled  up  with 
amusements.  If  they  cannot  hunt  the  wild  boar  and 


THE  MESMERIST.  35 

the  toho,  they  have  determined  to  turn  half  the  house 
into  a  temporary  theatre.  For  this  purpose,  agents 
have  been  despatched  to  Auckland,  who  have  returned 
with  the  necessary  workmen,  together  with  a  small 
cargo  of  material  for  dress  and  scenery. 

Meanwhile  there  is  trouble  looming  in  the  distance 
for  the  whole  country.  Te  Papa  of  Taranaki,  and 
his  ten  thousand  tribesmen,  have  broken  into  open 
revolt.  Five  years  previously  this  chieftain  sold  his 
people's  land  to  the  Government  for  ten  thousand 
pounds.  Some  one  told  the  chief  that  he  had  given 
away  the  land  for  less  than  one-tenth  of  its  value, 
whereupon  Te  Papa  demanded  his  acres  back,  or  his 
warriors  should  drive  every  Pakeha  into  the  sea. 

News  of  these  tidings  came  but  faintly  to  the  ears 
of  the  rank  and  fashion  congregated  at  the  Rock. 
What  had  such  idle  butterflies  to  do  with  Te  Papa, 
or  his  hordes  of  savages?  Parliament  had  met  ex- 
pressly to  deal  with  the  arch  rebel  and  his  followers. 
It  was  no  business  of  theirs,  yet  while  the  house  de- 
bated, while  its  members  soundly  abused  each  other, 
instead  of  taking  united  action  to  quell  the  rising  in 
the  bud,  five  powerful  chieftains  of  the  Waikato  es- 
poused Te  Papa's  cause,  and  the  rebel  movement 
became  general  throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of 
the  Northern  Island. 

Amid  all  the  gayety,  and  the  noise  and  bustle  of  the 
active  spirits  about  him,  Hilton  Fernbrook  went  the 
even  tenor  of  his  way.  Sometimes,  when  the  vague 
rumors  anent  the  Maori  rising  reached  him,  his  eye 
would  light  up  with  a  fierce,  sinister  gleam  of  satisfac- 
tion, as  if  the  thought  of  the  coming  deadly  strife  was 
a  source  of  congratulation.  One  wet  evening,  when 
the  guests  were  assembled  in  the  spacious  drawing- 


-   36          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

room,  rehearsing  their  intended  performance,  the  host 
stole  quietly  away  to  another  part  of  the  mansion.  It 
was  a  small  room  at  the  extreme  end  of  the  northern 
wing  overlooking  the  sea-wall.  A  very  neat  snug 
room,  luxuriously  furnished,  and  quite  retired  from 
the  suite  of  stairways  and  corridors  which  led  to  it. 
In  one  corner  stood  a  magnificent  piano  forwarded 
from  London  by  Hilton,  during  the  first  year  of  his 
sojourn  in  England ;  before  the  instrument  sat  Te 
Coro,  fingering  the  keys  in  a  reverie.  Fernbrook 
heard  the  loose  irregular  strain  and  paused  upon  the 
threshold.  Had  any  one  been  present,  he  would  have 
noticed  how  quickly  the  player  turned  about  with  her 
gaze  upon  the  door.  She  felt  the  presence  of  the  man 
rather  than  heard  his  approach. 

" Pardon  me,  uni  Titi"  he  said  in  a  soft  tone,  and 
using  the  endearing  Maori  term.  "  I  am  almost  bored 
to  death  with  all  the  incessant  noise  and  excitement ; 
I  have  come  here  for  a  few  minutes'  peace.  Will  you 
allow  me  to  sit  here  and  hear  you  play  ?  " 

A  deep  blush  mantled  the  smooth,  olive  face  of  Te 
Coro  as  Hilton  strode  into  the  room  and  took  a  seat 
beside  her ;  but  the  next  moment  it  faded,  leaving  her 
ashy  pale. 

He  saw  the  troubled  look  in  her  face,  and  felt  her 
shapely  hand  tremble  as  he  took  it  between  his  own. 
"  Titi,  have  I  offended  you  ? "  he  asked,  in  the  same 
low,  soft  accents.  "  Here  have  I  returned  some  three 
months  or  more,  and  yet  I  have  had  no  word  of 
welcome  from  your  lips." 

"You  have  had  many  welcomes,  sir,"  replied  the 
Maori,  in  a  quiet  tone ;  "  surely  you  cannot  miss  mine. 
Remember,  I  am  but  the  daughter  of  a  savage.  I  am 
Te  Coro,  your  ward,  the  object  of  your  generous 


THE  MESMERIST.  37 

bounty.  I  feel  I  am  the  daughter  of  old  Te  Papa,  and 
therefore  cannot  offer  you  the  services  of  my  tongue. 
Words  are  only  air.  What  then  ?  If  I  have  not  bid 
you  welcome  home  again  with  my  lips,  I  have  done  so 
a  thousand  times  in  my  heart." 

"  Yet  you  have  avoided  me,  Te  Coro." 

"  I  am  a  Maori.  My  likes  and  dislikes  are  not 
always  in  my  acts,  nor  that  which  I  think  to  be  seen 
in  my  words." 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  calm,  steady  gaze  for  the 
space  of  a  minute,  then  said  gayly, "  We  shall  be  friends, 
you  and  I,  Te  Coro.  When  you  were  a  wee  lady,  no 
higher  than  my  vest,  I  used  to  call  you  sweetheart : 
let  the  bond  remain  between  us  yet.  The  years  that 
have  gone  are  but  so  many  seconds  spent  in  a  troubled, 
dreamful  sleep.  Come,  let  me  hear  you  play,  uni 
Titi." 

He  leads  her  to  the  piano,  but  she  trembles  so  she 
cannot  command  the  instrument.  "  Why  is  all  this 
nervous  emotion  ?  "  she  asks  herself.  "  Am  I  not  the 
daughter  of  the  brave  Te  Papa  ?  Why  should  I 
tremble  in  the  presence  of  my  benefactor  and  friend  ?  " 
She  cannot  answer  the  question,  put  it  as  she  may. 
There  is  a  subtle  influence  at  work,  outside  her  func- 
tions, over  which  she  has  no  control.  She  feels  it,  as 
if  it  were  a  palpable  force  of  material  form  and  circum- 
stance. 

Hilton  Fernbrook  is  swift  to  note  the  change  in  his 
companion,  and  a  strange  smile  illumines  his  dark 
face. 

"  You  shut  yourself  up  in  these  old  rooms  too  much," 
he  said  presently.  "  I  must  speak  to  Rita  about  it. 
Now  you  shall  hear  me  play."  He  sat  down  and  began 
a  soft  prelude  from  one  of  the  old  German  masters ; 


38         THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

anon,  this  gave  place  to  Agia's  difficult  yet  soul-stir- 
ring "Del  Nomino." 

The  Maori  forgets  for  the  moment  all  emotion  in  her 
astonishment.  The  girl  is  a  thorough  musician ;  but 
this  man  touches  the  instrument  as  she  had  never 
heard  it  touched  before.  The  full  notes  roll  forth  with 
a  sweetness  and  withal  a  power  which  move  her 
almost  to  tears.  He  glides  from  Agia  to  Mozart  with 
a  rapid  run,  which  tests  the  grand  piano  to  its  full 
compass.  The  "  Agnus  Dei "  is  played  as  if  upon  an 
organ,  and  fills  the  room  with  melody — melody  which 
o'erflows,  spite  of  the  rattling  rain,  into  the  corridor, 
where  old  Rita  hears  and  pauses  to  listen  on  her  way 
to  her  room. 

O,  Music!  what  tongue  can  equal  thine?  What 
creature  crawling  beneath  the  stars  with  the  stamp 
and  the  likeness  of  the  Godhead  upon  him,  will  not 
find  in  thee  a  refuge  from  the  hard,  iron-bound  work- 
aday life,  where  men  stand  by  and  hear  each  other 
groan  !  Genius  and  Art  are  twin-born  with  thee.  O, 
Music !  Faith,  Hope,  and  Charity  are  linked  together 
in  thy  golden  girdle.  What  a  grand  language  dost 
thou  speak !  All  nations  and  tongues  comprehend  thy 
voice.  The  cares  and  the  frets  which  cling  to  the 
practical,  pause  at  the  threshold  of  thy  mysterious 
domain.  We  need  but  run  the  fingers  o'er  the  keys, 
and  lo !  the  worries  of  the  dull  globe  vanish  into  thin 
air. 

Te  Coro  sits  silent  'neath  the  witchery  of  the 
charmer.  Those  great  dark  eyes  of  hers  flash  swift- 
ly o'er  the  moving  fingers,  which  run  rapidly  into 
Beethoven,  Pastoralle,  and  after  that  to  a  sweet  pen- 
sive air  from  '  Lucia.'  The  New  Zealand  maiden  can- 
not have  too  much  of  that  magnificent  music.  She  is 


THE  MESMERIST.  39 

more  composed  when  he  pauses,  and  turns  towards 
her  those  magnetic  eyes,  which  sparkle  with  a  lurking 
satisfaction.  They  sit  face  to  face,  he  talking,  but 
with  his  look  straight  and  full  into  her  eyes,  and  very 
watchful  of  every  slight,  varying  expression  therein, 
There  is  a  method  in  his  watchfulness  which  does  not 
betray  itself  to  his  companion.  She  feels  the  attrac- 
tion in  his  gaze,  but  cannot  resist  it.  After  all,  it  is  a 
pleasing,  lulling  sensation,  this  which  comes  over  her ; 
a  strange  new  pleasure,  never  felt  by  her  before,  where- 
in all  the  senses  appear  soothed  into  peace  and  quiet. 
Hilton  Fernbrook  sees  the  change,  smiles,  and  turns 
again  to  the  piano.  The  first  note  makes  her  start  as 
if  from  sleep.  And  yet  she  has  not  closed  so  much  as 
an  eyelid,  nay,  had  never  for  an  instant  lost  the  con- 
sciousness of  his  presence  there  before  her,  It  was 
only  when  he  turned  from  her  that  an  inward  feeling 
of  some  undefiuable  danger  came  to  her — a  danger 
hid  in  some  subtle  way,  amid  all  the  glorious  sounds, 
the  soft  words,  and  the  bold,  unwinking  orbs  that 
looked  and  allured  while  they  looked  upon  her.  She 
rose  to  leave  the  room,  but  he  laid  his  hand  upon  hers 
and  quietly  detained  her. 

"  Not  yet,  Coro,"  he  said  smilingly.  "  I  am  nervous 
to-night,  and  almost  afraid  to  be  alone.  Listen  while 
I  sing  to  you." 

Te  Coro  had  no  will  but  to  obey.  He  plays  a  low 
prelude,  beautiful  in  its  harmonious  blending  of 
sounds,  and  then  in  a  deep,  full  voice  begins  to  sing — • 

Side  by  side  we  whisper,  "  Who  loves,  loves  forever," 

As  wave  upon  wave  to  the  sea  runs  the  river, 

And  the  oar  on  the  smoothness  drops  noiseless  and  steady, 

Till  we  start  with  a  sigh  : 

Was  it  she  ?— was  it  I  ?— 


40          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

Who  first  turned  to  look  on  the  way  we  had  made, 
Who  first  saw  the  soft  tints  of  the  garden  land  fade, 
Who  first  sighed,  "  See,  the  rose  hue  is  fading  already  "  ? 

This  song  has  the  effect  of  banishing  from  her  mind 
all  the  latent  fears  felt  previously.  How  the  deep 
rich  voice  soothed  her !  The  song  ended,  he  turns 
again  towards  her  with  a  wild  gleam  in  his  look — a 
look  loaded  with  the  power  of  a  strong  will.  The 
Maori  feels  its  influence  and  tries  to  break  it.  With 
a  gasp  as  if  for  breath,  she  makes  a  vigorous  effort  to 
rise  and  flee  from  the  chamber.  Vain  exertion  for  her, 
indeed !  The  strong  eyes  before  her  hold  her  spell- 
bound. It  is  only  for  a  moment  or  so  that  this  agoniz- 
ing duel  of  the  will  lasts.  Hilton  Fernbrook  raises 
his  right  hand,  and,  as  it  were,  Te  Coro  with  it,  while 
one  can  count  twenty,  and  the  battle  is  over.  Te 
Core's  eyes  slowly  close ;  the  small  shapely  head,  with 
its  coronet  of  glossy  raven  hair,  falls  backward  on  the 
cushioned  chair.  The  dove  is  at  the  mercy  of  the 
hawk.  He  sits  coolly  watching  her,  with  his  arms 
still  moving  to  and  fro  before  her  face  in  slow  but  reg- 
ular passes.  Whatever  his  design,  he  appears  in  no 
hurry  about  it.  When  he  has  satisfied  himself  that 
the  Maori  is  thoroughly  under  his  control,  he  rises  and 
stretches  his  limbs,  like  some  tired  wrestler  who  has 
undergone  severe  exertion.  Standing  silently  now 
and  listening  to  the  steady  rain  patter  outside,  he 
begins  to  mutter  to  himself,  as  if  that  inner  man 
of  his  were  a  companion  and  a  confidant. 

"  Oh !  who  shall  gauge  the  limit  of  knowledge  ? " 

he  cri  1.     "Who   shall   say   that  knowledge  is   not 

pow     ?    Let  me  think.    Old  De  Roal  taught  me  to 

te     myself  after  this  fashion.     He  told  me  that  Mesmer 

.scovered  a  terrible  force  in  Nature,  but  durst  not  use 


"  Te  Core's  eyes  slowly  close,  the  shapely  head,  with  its  coronet 
of  glossy  raven  hair,  falls  backward  on  the  cushioned  chair." 

— Page  40. 


THE  MESMERIST.  41 

it  for  fear  of  the  dungeon  and  the  rack.  My  old  tutor 
knew  as  much  as  Mesmer,  yet  was  fearless.  No  dread 
of  stake  or  gibbet  could  deter  him.  I  am  his  pupil. 
I — who  have  pitted  myself  against  odds  all  my  life. 
In  every  vein  and  fibre  of  my  being  I  feel  the  strong 
current  of  this  all-powerful  electricity  of  vigorous  life. 
Before  I  was  a  man,  De  Roal  revealed  to  me  my 
strength.  Well,  I  will  husband  it,  and  use  it  as  I 
please.  Soft ;  wake  not  yet,  sweet  Maori  maid,"  he 
murmured  hurriedly.  "  I  am  thy  victor,  but  will  not 
use  a  conqueror's  licence  to  thy  shame.  To  me  thou 
shalt  be  an  oracle — the  high-priestess  of  my  mesmer- 
ism. How  beautiful  she  is !  Were  it  not  that  I  am 
a — what  matters  it  what  I  am  ?  Love  is  blind.  If  it 
be,  so  be  it.  Hist ! "  he  paused  abruptly  in  his  so- 
liloquy, and  stole  noiselessly,  to  the  door  and  opened  it 
suddenly  but  there  was  no  one  there.  "  What  a  fool 
I  am ! "  he  murmured,  closing  the  door  suddenly. 
"Now  let  me  to  the  trial." 

"  Speak,  Te  Coro,  if  thou  canst." 

"  I  am  at  your  pleasure,"  came  in  faint  tones  from 
the  voice  of  the  sleeper. 

"  Can  trance  produce  visions  ?  "  he  asked  with  a  flush 
on  his  dark  face. 

"Even  so.  What  wouldst  thou?"  she  replied  in 
clearer  accents. 

The  mesmerist  stood  over  her  in  silence  for  a  mo- 
ment, as  if  in  thought,  then  answered :  "  I  would  fain 
know  what  is  before  your  survey,  Te  Coro?"  The 
pallid  lips  of  the  Maori  writhed  for  utterance,  but  no 
sound  came  therefrom. 

"  What  see  you  ?  "  he  cried.     "  Speak ! " 

"  I  see  a  long,  lonely,  winding  road  on  the  border  of 
the  sea  coast,"  she  answered  quietly.  "  The  road  leads 


42          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

into  a  gloomy  valley,  where  men  are  at  work,  hewing 
out  large  blocks  of  stone.  Beyond  the  valley  I  be- 
hold a  dark  gloomy  building  ringed  in  by  a  high  wall, 
and  which  looks  like  a  huge  prison.  There  are  several 
parties  of  men,  in  strange  costumes,  moving  here  and 
there.  Each  party  are  chained  together  like  oxen, 
and  their  dress  is  colored  blue  and  gray,  and  marked 
with  an  arrow.  One  party  of  twelve  drag  a  heavy 
cart  loaded  with  stone  round  a  bend  of  the  lonely  road- 
way. On  either  side  of  these  are  two  other  men,  who 
are  not  chained,  and  wear  dark  uniforms  and  are  armed. 
Suddenly  the  gang  stop,  and,  with  one  accord,  rush 
upon  the  armed  guard,  whom  they  overpower  in  an 
instant.  The  onslaught  is  so  unexpected  that  no 
defence  is  offered,  save  and  except  that  one  of  the  guns 
goes  off  in  the  scuffle,  thus  giving  a  signal  of  alarm. 
In  a  moment  the  gang  of  chained  men  are  free ;  the 
iron  shackles  about  their  limbs  are  rent  asunder. 
Seven  of  the  twelve  are  recaptured  and  chained  to- 
gether again ;  the  other  five  flee  and  disappear." 

"  Can  you  describe  any  of  those  that  have  es- 
caped?" 

"  Yes.  The  one  who  led  them  appeared  like  unto 
yourself,  Hilton  Fernbrook." 

"I?" 

"  You ! "  she  answered  quickly.  "  Did  I  not  know 
that  you  were  here,  I  would  say :  Thou  art  he ! " 

"  Well  said,  O  prophetess !  Has  this  felon  my 
hair,  my  gait,  my  moustache  ?  Come,  no  quibbling, 
Titi?" 

"  This  man  has  no  moustache,  but  the  face,  the  form, 
the  walk,  are  all  the  same.  I  know  them  from  a  mil- 
lion, degraded  as  are  the  surroundings." 

"  Good,  my  young  Toho,"  he    answered,   with  a 


THE  MESMERIST.  43 

strange  smile.  "Let  that  vision  pass.  What  seest 
thou  now  ?  " 

"  Now,  I  behold  a  picture  like  the  sea,"  she  said, 
after  a  pause.  "  And  lo !  there  is  a  ship — a  small  ship 
with  two  masts,  from  which  the  idle  sails  hang  loosely 
down.  There  is  no  wind,  and  the  sea  and  sky  are  like 
molten  fire  seen  through  a  mist.  On  the  deck  the 
crew  are  reeling  here  and  there  in  drunkenness  and 
uttering  terrible  blasphemy.  The  liquor  and  the  blaz- 
ing sun  have  made  them  mad.  Everywhere  there  ap- 
pears disorder  and  wild  debauchery.  Look!  Even 
while  they  sing  and  dance  in  their  wild  orgie,  a  broad 
flame  shoots  forth  from  the  ship's  hold.  She  is  on  fire. 
One  of  the  crew,  more  insane  than  the  rest,  has  set 
the  vessel  in  flames.  How  it  roars  and  whistles,  and 
gleams  in  power !  One  by  one  it  licks  up  the  reeling 
forms  of  the  crew  with  its  red-hot  tongue,  until  there 
are  but  two  left  to  battle  with  it.  This  pair  fight  the 
angry  elements  with  cool  courage  and  patience.  But 
in  vain.  Nothing  can  save  the  doomed  ship.  Their 
only  hope  is  in  one  small  boat,  which  the  flames  have 
not  yet  reached,  They  lower  this  on  the  darkened 
ocean  and  push  off  from  the  burning  mass." 

"  You  can  see  the  faces  of  this  pair  ?  " 

"Clearly.  One  is  a  little  man,  thin-visaged,  but 
bold-looking,  and,  though  young,  still  resolute." 

"  And  the  other  ?  " 

"The  same  man  who  led  the  five  prison-breakers 
into  the  bush,"  answered  Te  Coro. 

"  Can  you  discern  the  name  of  the  burning  vessel  ?  " 
asks  the  mesmerist,  in  a  low  tone. 

"  Yes  ;  vividly.    It  is  « Seagull.' " 

"  Enough !  "  he  cries,  with  sudden  animation.  Then, 
seating  himself  at  the  piano,  he  plays  a  Grand  March 


44          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

in  fullest  tone.  By  and  by  Te  Coro  moans,  sighs,  rubs 
her  eyes,  and  gazes  about  her  with  a  bewildered  look. 
"  I  fear  I  have  been  asleep,"  she  says  in  an  apologetic 
manner,  looking  towards  the  player. 

"  Asleep,  Te  Coro  ?  Come,  that  is  not  very  flattering 
to  your  humble  servant,"  he  answered,  without  turn- 
ing. 

"  I  confess  it  is  not,"  she  adds,  with  a  little  laugh, 
at  the  same  time  rising  to  go.  "Thank  you  very 
much  for  your  music.  It  has  made  me  quite  drowsy." 

Te  Coro  retires  with  a  graceful  bend  of  her  head, 
and  closes  the  door  softly  behind  her.  Out  on  the 
main  corridor  stands  old  Rita,  the  nurse. 

"  Come  with  me  to  my  room,  child  ;  I  have  some- 
thing to  say  to  you,"  she  says,  as  she  leads  the  girl 
away. 


THE  MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN.  45 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    MIGHT    HAVE    BEEN. 

BEFORE  the  rain  had  ceased  to  rattle  against  the 
solid  gables  of  Fernbrook  Hall,  all  was  in  readiness 
for  the  performance  of  Massinger's  fine  old  comedy, 
'  A  New  Way  to  Pay  old  Debts."  Many  objections 
had  been  set  up  and  demolished  before  the  dramatis 
personcB  were  fitted  to  their  several  parts.  Luckily  for 
Ralph  Warne,  who  had  taken  upon  himself  the  re- 
sponsibility of  the  affair,  Alton  Lyndhurst  proved  him- 
self an  able  stage  director  and  manager.  But  with  all 
his  tact,  the  young  author  found  himself  at  fault.  No 
one  could  be  found  to  perform  the  leading  role.  In 
this  dilemma,  two  strangers  arrived  at  the  Rock,  and 
were  introduced  by  the  master  of  Fernbrook  to  his 
guests. 

"  These  two  gentlemen  are  my  especial  friends,"  he 
said.  "  On  the  continent  of  Europe  and  elsewhere  we 
have  sojourned  together,  sharing  the  same  roof  and 
the  same  table.  In  the  name  of  friendship  I  bid  them 
both  welcome  to  New  Zealand." 

The  new-comers  were  evidently  men  of  the  world, 
who  knew  how  to  adapt  themselves  to  mixed  company. 
In  a  few  hours  they  were  quite  at  home,  accepted  parts 
in  the  comedy,  and  entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  fun 
with  the  zest  of  school-boys  let  out  for  a  holiday. 
Neither  of  these  personages  was  young.  The  fore- 
most of  the  twain  was  verging  on  sixty  years  of  age  ; 


46          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

yet  he  was  a  man  who  had  been  well  preserved — a  man 
who  appeared  to  have  taken  good  care  of  Number  One 
above  all  things  else.  His  threescore  years  sat  upon 
him  as  lightly  as  forty  winters  upon  many  men.  Tall, 
but  withal  slight  and  delicate-looking,  there  was  not 
a  crease  or  wrinkle  in  the  man,  from  his  nose  to  his 
toes.  Beyond  an  undeniable  military  air,  which  clung 
to  him  like  his  tight-fitting  frock-coat,  Colonel  de 
Roal  seemed  a  well-bred  polished  gentleman,  at  peace 
with  himself  and  with  all  the  world. 

Drummond  Blake,  his  companion,  was  altogether 
unlike  the  Colonel.  A  giant  in  stature,  and  with  limbs 
like  another  Hercules,  this  man  was  both  gruff  and 
coarse  in  manner  and  in  speech.  Nevertheless,  there 
was  a  good-humored,  robust,  healthy,  devil-may-care 
hilarity  about  him  which  won  him  friends  amongst  the 
company.  A  keen  observer  of  men  would  have  noticed 
two  things  in  the  conduct  and  manner  of  Colonel  de 
Roal  and  his  gigantic  friend  :  Firstly,  the  Colonel 
never  lost  sight,  even  for  a  moment,  of  the  huge  pro- 
portions of  his  comrade  ;  while  Blake,  on  his  part,  in- 
variably took  his  cue  from  the  other,  sometimes  by  a 
word,  but  mostly  by  glances  well  understood.  There 
were  no  keen  observers  at  the  Rock,  however,  except 
Hilton  Fernbrook  and  old  Rita,  the  Maori.  Probably 
both  were  on  the  watch,  but  in  different  directions. 

"  What  a  grand  old  place  this  is,  dear  Fernbrook," 
quoth  the  Colonel,  adjusting  his  pince-nez  over  his  cold 
steely  blue  eyes.  "  There  has  been  no  vulgar  architect 
here  ;  this  is  no  modern  daub  of  ugly  brick  and  stucco. 
Nature  has  aided  the  builder,  or  the  wise  fellow  has 
taken  advantage  of  Nature.  Ma  foi,  what  a  splendid 
bronze  !  Sallust  of  Pompeii,  could  he  stalk  forth  from 
his  lava  tomb  beside  Vesuvius,  would  stare  in  wonder 


THE  MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN.  47 

at  the  magnificent  proportions  of  yonder  trellised  bal- 
cony ! " 

Seldom  had  there  been  congregated  together  such 
a  witty,  laughter-loving  group  as  that  which  assem- 
bled to  witness  "  A  New  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts."  In 
the  lofty  drawing-room  there  is  accommodation  for 
double  the  number  of  those  who  sit  in  easy  indolence 
before  the  crimson  curtain  hiding  the  stage.  The  gen- 
tlemen who  are  to  take  part  in  the  performance  are 
scattered  through  the  audience,  laughing  and  talking. 
An  early  dinner  has  left  them  ample  time  for  gossip 
ere  the  play  begins. 

Amongst  the  loungers,  Alton  Lyndhurst,  drawn 
forth  from  his  shell  of  reserve,  is  holding  forth  on  the 
merits  of  Kit  Marlowe,  Jonson,  Webster,  Marston  and 
a  host  of  others  who  have  left  their  mark  on  the 
British  Drama.  His  listeners  are  only  a  group  of  five, 
but  they  are  appreciative.  One  of  the  number  is  a 
lady,  a  proud,  wealthy  beauty,  with  a  face  and  form 
as  matchless  as  that  of  Helen  of  Troy.  How  cold  and 
motionless  she  sits ! — yet  there  is  a  world  of  meaning 
in  the  far-away  look  in  her  eyes. 

While  the  fiddles  are  being  tuned,  and  the  players 
are  preparing  for  honest  Philip  Massinger's  master- 
piece, let  me  take  up  the  wand  of  Hermes  and  put 
back  Old  Father  Time  by  six  years. 

The  world  was  younger  and  brighter  for  Victorine 
Hargrave,  then  only  a  slip  of  a  girl,  just  past  her 
eighteenth  birthday — a  birthday  at  which  there  had 
been  an  innocent  drinking  of  tea  at  Major  Hargrave's 
cottage,  on  the  cliff  overlooking  the  Waitamata. 

Major  Hargrave  is  a  widower,  and  as  poor  as  Job. 
He  is  a  man  who  has  seen  much  life.  He  has  fought 
for  Don  Carlos,  and  derives  his  military  title  from  his 


48          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

service  in  Spain.  Paris,  Madrid,  and  London  have  in 
turn  been  his  home.  He  has  spent  some  portion  of  his 
days  in  South  America,  and  is  not  unremembered  in 
Mexico.  But  at  sixty-seven  he  has  had  enough  of  a 
nomad  existence.  It  is  pleasant  to  remember  his  wan- 
derings and  relate  his  adventures  while  he  reposes  at 
ease  by  his  hearth ;  pleasanter  still  to  have  his  clever, 
bright,  graceful  daughter  to  minister  to  his  wants — a 
daughter  who  makes  a  sovereign  go  as  far  as  two  dis- 
pensed by  a  sullen  housekeeper.  His  cottage  at  Par- 
nell  is  the  pink  of  neatness,  very  small,  but  seeming  so 
much  the  snugger  for  its  smallness,  daintily  furnished 
with  the  relics  of  larger  and  more  splendid  abodes 
picked  up  as  occasion  served. 

Victorine  is  one  of  those  active  spirits  who  rise 
early.  She  devotes  her  mornings  to  household  duties, 
and  flits  about,  light  of  foot,  with  gloved  hands  and 
broad  linen  apron.  The  Major,  although  a  soldier  of 
fortune,  has  ever  been  an  honest  man.  It  is  his  boast 
that  he  has  lived  amidst  spendthrifts  and  social  Bo- 
hemians, and  yet  paid  his  way ;  that  no  tailor  re- 
members him  with  a  pang ;  that  no  time-yellowed  page 
in  a  fashionable  bookmaker's  ledger  records  his  dis- 
honor. 

In  his  retirement  he  amuses  himself  with  literature, 
and  though  this  pastime  widens  his  narrow  income,  he 
has  more  pride  in  his  achievements  than  in  the  re- 
muneration. The  daughter  is  not  so  well  satisfied  with 
her  surroundings.  She  has  lived  in  this  seaboard  of 
Auckland  for  more  than  ten  years,  but  she  has  still  dim 
recollection  of  London  and  Paris,  and  other  towns, 
which  come  and  go  in  her  memory  like  a  dream  of  the 
"  Arabian  Nights."  To  be  rich  and  powerful,  that  is 
the  acme  of  her  ambition.  She  often  asks  her  father, 


THE  MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN.  49 

wonderingly,  how  he  can  exist  in  the  dull  Antipodes, 
after  his  experience  of  brighter  worlds  ? 

The  girl  knows  that,  with  even  fewer  opportunities 
she  is  more  accomplished  than  most  of  her  wealthy 
neighbors ;  she  sings  better,  plays  more  brilliantly,  has 
a  more  general  capacity  for  learning  new  things,  a 
greater  deftness  of  finger,  superior  taste  in  dress,  and 
more  skill  in  making  much  out  of  little.  Her  father  is 
foolishly  fond,  proudly  indulgent,  praises  Yictorine's 
pretty  looks,  her  sweet  voice,  her  cleverness,  graceful, 
winning  ways,  and  general  good  management.  She 
lives  in  an  atmosphere  of  praise,  rises  every  morning 
to  be  admired ;  lies  down  at  night  pleased  with  her 
own  beauty  and  sweetness. 

The  Lyndhursts  are  the  Major's  nearest  and  dearest 
friends.  Mother  and  son  are  as  fond  of  Yictorine  as 
if  she  were  their  own  flesh  and  blood.  Often,  in  the 
summer  gloaming,  girl  and  boy  have  climbed  the  cliff 
above  the  noble  bay,  and  here  have  watched  the  ships 
glide  to  and  fro  like  grim  ghosts  in  the  twilight. 

Major  Hargrave  is  at  his  best  as  a  dramatic  critic. 
Shakespeare  is  a  whole  library  to  him.  He  has  so  im- 
bued his  daughter  with  a  love  of  the  great  dramatist, 
that  the  girl  has  a  veritable  passion  for  the  art.  She 
knows  every  word  of  Juliet,  Queen  Katharine,  Rosa- 
lind, Lady  Macbeth,  Cordelia,  and  Beatrice.  Under  the 
Major's  tuition,  Victorine  has  become  a  superb  elocu- 
tionist. By  the  winter's  fire,  while  her  father  smoked 
his  pipe,  she  has  recited  the  whole  Shakespearean  round. 
He  teaches  her  how  the  most  famous  actress  of  his  day 
used  to  pause  here,  or  linger  fondly  on  a  word  there ; 
or  rise  at  such  a  point  to  indignant  passion.  He  re- 
members the  great  Siddons ;  how  her  awful  whisper 
went  through  the  gloom  of  the  theatre  as  if  mocking 
4 


50          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

the  evil  spirits ;  and  Victorine  hangs  on  his  words  with 
delight,  and  asks  him  again  and  again  to  describe  that 
wondrous  art. 

Alton  Lyndhurst  is  three  years  Victorine's  senior, 
and  is  fighting  an  uphill  fight  for  a  place  in  the  world  of 
letters.  What  little  time  he  can  spare  from  his  work 
is  devoted  to  Major  Hargrave's  daughter,  for  the  poor 
penniless  scribe  almost  worships  her.  It  is  the  one 
gleam  of  sunshine  in  his  drudging  life  to  read  Shakes- 
peare with  her,  or  to  play  Romeo  to  her  Juliet.  There 
is  just  enough  in  her  unlikeness  to  all  other  women  to 
catch  the  fancy  of  the  dreaming  enthusiast,  who  is  as 
deeply  smitten  with  the  only  true,  absorbing,  unchang- 
ing, eternal  passion  as  a  young  man  of  twenty-two  can 
be.  So  on  that  high  cliff,  perched  on  the  sea-wall,  Al- 
ton Lyndhurst  tells  Major  Hargrave's  daughter  his 
love.  Alas  for  the  unfortunate  scribe ! 

With  shapely  hands  resting  on  his  shoulder,  eyes 
looking  into  his,  words  coming  swiftly,  and  with  sobs 
borne  along  the  eloquent  voice,  she  tells  him  that  if  she 
could  love  any  one  it  would  be  Alton.  If  she  could  for- 
get her  terrible  struggles  with  grim  want,  and  resign 
her  hope  of  unbounded  wealth  and  station,  it  would  be 
for  Alton.  But  it  had  been  the  dream  of  her  life  to 
become  rich  and  powerful,  to  emerge  out  of  the  slough 
of  despond  and  poverty  into  the  clearer  light  that  is 
born  of  affluence. 

Alton  Lyndhurst  goes  back  again  to  his  work,  shuts 
himself  up  with  his  books,  and  strives  as  only  earnest 
men  can  strive,  when  loves  dies  and  ambition  is  born. 

Before  the  year  is  out  Victorine  Hargrave  is  mar- 
ried. Amid  the  fervor  of  Parliamentary  debate,  and 
the  strong  opinions  quickening  into  life  which  had  be- 
gun to  agitate  even  these  remote  colonists,  Alton  Lynd- 


THE  MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN.  51 

hurst  found  relief  from  his  sorrow.  If  at  first  his  faith 
and  belief  in  the  purity  and  goodness  of  woman  had 
been  overthrown  like  some  rickety  temple  of  frailest 
masonry,  he  had  emerged  again  from  his  wanderings, 
to  the  light  of  former  guiding  stars.  Work  had  saved 
him — hard,  stern,  unflinching  work.  The  very  effort 
to  forget  his  mad  folly  and  presumption  had  brought 
forth  a  latent  power  till  then  slumbering,  and  the 
result  was  fame. 

Victorine  Hargrave  obtained  the  gratification  of  her 
darling  wish,  inasmuch  as  she  married  one  of  the  largest 
land-owners  in  the  colony.  In  the  absence  of  good 
looks,  youth,  and  the  necessary  culture  which  lends 
ideal  charms  to  love,  her  husband  had  abundance  of 
money — money,  that  we  poor  dreaming  rogues  rail 
against  so  bitterly ;  the  fetish  whom  we  all  adore,  rail 
as  we  may.  Ah,  me!  If  Mrs.  Gayland  was  not 
thoroughly  satisfied  and  happy  in  her  married  life,  it 
was  perchance  because  she  was  a  woman,  and  not  the 
fault  of  her  lord  and  master,  who  gratified  every  whim, 
every  desire  of  her  heart,  so  far  as  ready  cash  could 
accomplish  it. 

Mrs.  Victorine  Gayland  went  to  England,  and  was 
absent  but  two  years,  when  she  returned  to  New  Zea- 
land— a  widow.  Young,  beautiful,  accomplished  and 
wealthy,  Victorine  Gayland  became  the  fashion  and 
the  rage  amongst  the  upper  ten,  who  neither  toil  nor 
spin.  The  wives  of  the  squatters  and  bankers  who 
had,  heretofore,  shrugged  their  fair  shoulders  at  Major 
Hargrave's  penniless  daughter,  were  delighted  with  the 
brilliant,  captivating,  rich  young  widow.  Those  who 
had  passed  her  by  coldly  heretofore  were  glad  to  meet 
with  a  nod  of  recognition  from  the  queen  whose  law 
was  indisputable. 


52          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FEENBROOK. 

She  has  thought  of  Alton  Lyndhurst  betimes  in  those 
two  years  of  her  married  life.  Comparisons  have  jarred 
upon  the  sensitive  chords  of  her  nature,  when  she  has 
pitted  him  in  imagination  against  this  money-getter 
who  calls  her  wife.  She  has  thought  of  him  very  often 
in  her  solitary  widowhood,  wondering  why  he  does  not 
come ;  thinking  him  unkind  and  cruel  for  withholding 
his  notice  and  his  praise,  now  that  all  the  world  notices 
and  praises  her. 

She  is  amongst  the  first  to  read  that  book  which  lifts 
his  name  at  one  bound  into  notoriety.  Oh,  how  every 
page  preaches  to  her  of  the  days  that  are  gone,  of  those 
unforgotten  days  when  he  was  hers,  lying  at  her  feet 
in  the  late  autumn  twilight,  with  the  broad  full  moon 
shining  upon  the  sea.  He  has  laid  his  own  heart  upon 
the  dissecting  table,  and  anatomized  its  every  pulse. 
She  knows  now  how  utterly  that  heart  was  hers,  how 
torn  and  wounded  by  her  desertion.  She  comes  face 
to  face  with  him  once  more  in  those  vivid  pages,  and 
the  very  breath  of  that  love-day  comes  back  to  her. 
She  reads,  arid  the  smouldering  love  flames  up  with  a 
brighter,  stronger  fire,  and  she  knows  that  she  loves 
Alton  Lyndhurst  better  far  than  of  old,  and  must  so 
love  him  to  the  end. 

One  day  at  a  garden  party  given  by  the  popular 
member  for  West  Auckland,  Alton  and  Victorine  meet 
again.  The  belle  of  fashion  and  the  rising  author  are 
both  changed ;  both  are  accomplished  in  the  polite  art 
of  self-repression.  She  greets  him  with  graceful  tran- 
quillity ;  he  reciprocates  with  gracious  candor.  They 
talk  of  the  old  cottage  by  the  sea-wall,  of  the  dear,  dead 
father.  From  that  time  the  idol  of  society  and  the  pop- 
ular author  are  friends — but  there  is  no  word  of  love 
between  them.  Cast  thy  magic  wand  aside,  O  Hermes ! 


THE  MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN.  53 

Lift  the  curtain  again  on  the  group  gathered  round 
Alton  Lyndhurst.  The  theme  is  still  men  and  books. 
Colonel  de  Roal  is  one  of  the  latter  party ;  watch  him 
as  he  sits  with  quiet  mien  listening  to  the  talker.  There 
is  one  huge  sneer  stamped  from  brow  to  chin,  but  it  is 
so  subtle  and  refined  that  it  appears  like  a  benign  smile 
on  his  face. 

"  I  often  wonder,"  remarks  Fenton  Grey,  a  noted 
musician,  who  has  come  down  to  spend  the  winter  at 
the  Rock, — "  I  often  wonder  that,  among  so  many  books 
written  for  this  age,  there  are  so  few  that  seem  calcu- 
lated to  make  people  better." 

"  My  dear  sir,  from  an  aesthetic  point  of  view,  good- 
ness is  the  reverse  of  interesting,"  rejoins  the  Colonel, 
blandly. 

"  Yet  Goldsmith  has  ventured  to  depict  characters 
that  are  almost  faultless,"  answers  Alton. 

The  Colonel  shrugs  his  shoulders.  "  True,"  he  says, 
"but  Goldsmith  was  a  humorist,  and  could  afford  to 
paint  virtue.  Humor,  with  his  heroes,  removes  the 
insipidity  of  benevolence.  Faust  is  not  good,  and  lago 
is  simply  execrable;  but  where  can  you  match  them 
for  interest?" 

Alton  Lyndhurst  looks  with  more  attention  at  the 
speaker  than  he  has  done  hitherto.  "  Then  you  deny 
that  there  can  be  any  interest  in  the  kind  of  read- 
ing which  may  tend  to  raise  the  whole  tone  of  one's 
being?"  he  asks.  "For  my  part,  I  love  Tennyson; 
one  cannot  read  him  without  feeling  better  and 
braver." 

"  Nay,  virtue  is  so  simple  a  matter  that  it  affords 
few  opportunities  for  art,"  responds  De  Roal,  in  the 
same  quiet  tone.  "  Vice  and  crime  are  many-sided,  and 
offer  infinite  scope  for  the  literary  anatomist.  One 


54          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

Cleopatra,  mighty  and  fallen,  is  worth  all  the  cold  per- 
fection  of  your  modern  heroine." 

The  stage  bell  rings  as  Alton  is  about  to  reply,  and 
that  puts  an  end  to  all  further  controversy.  Those  who 
take  part  in  the  performance  haste  away  to  dress,  and 
the  fiddles  begin  to  tune  for  the  overture.  The  most 
difficult  part  has  fallen  upon  the  mantle  of  the  Colonel, 
but  "  Sir  Giles  Overreach  "  fits  him  as  if  he  had  made 
it  a  life-long  study.  Lady  Aldworth  finds  a  worthy 
representative  in  Mrs.  Victorine  Gayland ;  the  wealthy 
widow  is  an  artist  of  the  first  order,  as  well  as  a  woman 
of  fashion. 

Nine  o'clock  p.  M. — Settle  yourselves  comfortably  in 
your  seats.  "  A  New  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts,"  a  play 
by  Philip  Massinger.  Such  a  piece  is  just  the  thing 
for  a  drawing-room  like  this  one ;  and  the  costumes,  so 
far  as  the  ladies  are  concerned,  are  simply  perfect. 

Up  with  the  curtain.  A  room  in  Lady  Aldworth's 
house.  Boudoir,  blue  and  gold  brocade  and  satin-wood. 
The  walls  are  painted  white,  carved  garlands  of  flowers 
and  fruit  adorn  the  panelling.  Old  Venetian  mirrors, 
reflecting  dark  blue  delf  and  rare  old  porcelain.  The 
Hall  has  been  ransacked  to  furnish  this  scene. 

Ten  o'clock. — The  applause  is  loud  and  long.  Hilton 
Fernbrook,  who  has  been  lounging  about,  moody  and 
silent,  goes  behind  the  scenes.  "  Ah,  mon  cher,  how  are 
you  ?  "  cries  the  Colonel. 

"Accept  my  congratulations,"  replies  the  younger 
man,  with  just  the  faintest  touch  of  sarcasm  in  his  voice. 
"  You  are  winning  golden  opinions,  De  Roal." 

The  Colonel  leads  him  aside.  "  My  son,  if  some 
great  enthusiast  could  suddenly  spring  up  in  our  midst 
and  raise  the  roofs  off  these  people's  brains,  as  Asrao- 
deus  lifted  the  roofs  off  the  buildings  in  the  city  of 


THE  MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN.  55 

Madrid,  what  strange  things  we  should  find  this  pleased 
and  happy  assembly  pondering  over !  " 

Close  by  the  wing  opposite  stand  Mrs.  Gayland 
and  Alton  Lyndhurst.  "  This  night  will  make  you 
famous,"  he  whispers. 

She  lift  her  eyes  to  his  for  a  moment,  then  replies 
thoughtfully,  "  If  one  did  not  seek  to  win  fame,  there 
would  be  no  such  thing  as  greatness." 

"  The  most  lasting  fame  has  been  won  by  goodness 
rather  than  talent,"  he  answers  coldly,  moving  away. 

The  close  of  the  entertainment  is  very  brilliant,  and 
merges  at  length  into  a  ball,  when  polkas  and  country 
dances  usher  in  the  gray  dawn  of  day. 


56          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 


CHAPTER  V. 

COLONEL   DE    KOAL. 

THE  ball  which  followed  close  on  the  heels  of  the 
dramatic  entertainment  was  at  its  height.  From  the 
half  circular  gallery  above  the  gay  throng,  it  seemed 
that  the  play  had  just  begun.  Those  who  had  taken 
part  in  the  mimic  scenes  heretofore  were  merged  into 
the  picture,  and  added  tone  and  color  to  it.  An  old 
clock  of  antique  model,  standing  above  the  balustrade 
stairway,  chimed  an  hour  after  midnight,  as  Colonel  de 
Roal  passed  outward  with  measured  tread  to  the  suite 
of  rooms  beyond  assigned  to  his  use.  He  had  not 
changed  one  jot  of  his  costume  as  Sir  Giles  Overreach, 
except  the  heavy  wig.  He  entered  his  room,  took  a 
wet  sponge,  and  carefully  removed  all  traces  of  the 
dark  lines  which  had  been  streaked  upon  his  face  by 
the  costumiers,  who  had  given  to  it  the  hard,  stern 
aspect  of  the  greedy,  money-grubbing  hero  of  Massin- 
ger's  drama.  This  accomplished  to  his  satisfaction,  the 
Colonel  stood  before  the  huge  mirror,  and  complacently 
stroked  his  large  moustache  for  some  considerable  time. 
At  the  farther  end  of  the  apartment  there  was  an  old 
weather-beaten  trunk,  standing  on  a  chair.  Torn  por- 
tions of  many  labels  of  divers  colors  still  adhered  to 
it,  proving  that  it  had  been  a  great  traveller  in  its  day. 
Whatever  might  have  been  the  subject  of  Colonel  de 
Real's  cogitations,  they  evidently  had  some  connecting 
link  with  the  valise,  for,  his  thinking  fit  ended,  he 


COLONEL  DE  ROAL.  57 

produced  a  key,  unlocked  the  portmanteau,  and  took 
therefrom  some  documents,  together  with  part  of  an 
old  newspaper.  These  he  thrust  into  his  doublet.  As 
he  was  about  to  close  the  trunk,  a  second  thought 
seemed  to  occur  to  him,  for  he  plunged  his  hand 
amongst  its  miscellaneous  contents,  and  drew  forth 
a  small  revolver. 

"  Gaston  de  Roal,  you  have  existed  in  this  beautiful 
world  till  you  are  old  and  gray,  but  your  trust  in  hu- 
man nature  has  not  been  improved  by  time,  vnon  ami. 
"  Trust  no  one  "  is  a  good  maxim.  The  greatest  mili- 
tary genius  of  any  time  trusted  his  friend  Brutus,  and 
Brutus  stabbed  Csesar.  Humph  !  Rest  there,  my  friend, 
till  wanted,"  he  continued,  in  a  smothered  tone. 
"  When  one  has  to  play  with  a  skilled  gamester,  it  is 
well  to  have  more  than  one  trump  card  in  hand." 

With  the  same  measured,  soldierly  tread,  which  ap- 
peared part  and  parcel  of  the  man,  he  went  out  along 
the  corridor,  smiling  and  bowing,  with  courtly  grace, 
to  many  who  had  taken  possession  of  the  grand  stair- 
case to  kiss  and  flirt,  and  ascending  a  small  flight  of 
stairs  branching  therefrom,  entered  a  chamber  situated 
almost  at  the  extreme  end  of  the  building.  This  apart- 
ment was  a  sort  of  retreat  or  smoking-room  used 
by  Hilton  Fernbrook,  and  on  that  account  was  held 
strictly  private  from  all  intrusion  by  that  gentleman's 
guests.  Nevertheless,  the  Colonel  inarched  in  without 
ceremony.  Hilton  Fembrook  was  seated,  conning  a 
rough  chart  spread  out  on  a  table  before  him,  while 
Timothy  Sharpe,  his  man,  introduced  in  the  first  chap- 
ter of  this  history  as  the  Ferret,  stood  by  ready 
equipped  as  for  a  long  journey. 

The  latter  personage  was  evidently  disturbed  at  the 
sight  of  the  intruder,  but  Fernbrook  rose  quietly,  and 


58          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

bade  his  visitor  welcome.  "  We  will  defer  your  de- 
parture, Sharpe,  until  the  morning,"  he  said,  folding 
up  the  map  and  placing  it  in  an  iron  box,  which  he 
locked.  "  Now  go." 

"  Pray  don't  let  me  disturb  you,  my  dear  Hilton," 
began  the  Colonel. 

"  Be  seated,  sir ;  the  business  is  of  little  importance," 
rejoined  Fernbrook,  drawing  an  easy-chair  towards  the 
fire.  "  Good-night,  Sharpe.  Close  the  door." 

The  Ferret  bowed  and  retired,  but  not  through  the 
door  which  De  Roal  had  entered.  He  drew  aside  a 
thick  curtain  which  divided  the  room  from  a  deep  recess 
filled  with  useless  guns,  fishing-tackle,  etc.,  and  made 
his  exit  through  a  low  doorway  behind  it. 

The  Master  of  Fernbrook  Hall  and  his  visitor  sat  in 
silence  for  several  minutes  after  the  Ferret's  departure. 

"  My  son,  I  feel  inquisitive  to-night,"  said  the  Colo- 
nel, blandly.  "  I'm  afraid  I  have  annoyed  you  by  com- 
ing here  unexpectedly." 

"  Not  at  all.  Colonel  de  Roal  is  quite  at  liberty  to 
go  where  he  pleases  here  at  Fernbrook.  But  what  are 
your  desires  ?  " 

"  What  is  behind  that  screen  ?  " 

"  Nothing  but  old  lumber,  accumulated  the  Lord 
knows  when  or  how." 

"  And  the  doorway  there  in  the  recess  ?  " 

"  Leads  to  a  passage  opening  to  the  stables  below ; 
that's  all." 

"  Humph !  This  is  but  a  poor,  unattractive  apart- 
ment, mon  cher,  with  so  many  at  your  command  very 
much  superior  in  the  way  of  embellishments." 

Hilton  Fernbrook  turned,  and  looked  full  in  the  face 
of  his  companion.  "  This  room  suits  me,"  he  responds 
slowly.  "  Here  I  am  secure  from  intrusion.  Come, 


COLONEL  DE  ROAL.  59 

sir,"  he  added  more  quickly.  "  You  have  not  sought 
me  in  my  den  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  to  ask 
silly  questions?" 

"No,  my  son;  certainly  not.  By-the-by,  are  you 
certain  that  we  are  free  from  intrusion  ?  " 

"  As  free  as  if  we  were  out  yonder  on  the  ocean." 

"  Good,"  cried  De  Roal,  in  his  usual  smooth  voice. 
"  After  all,  I  have  not  come  to  tell  of  ghosts  and  gob- 
lins nor  of  midnight  murders.  Neither  have  I  any 
secrets  of  Church  or  State  to  unfold  at  this  witching 
hour.  My  dear  boy,  my  sole  errand  is  to  show  you  a 
paragraph  in  an  old  newspaper,  which  may  possibly 
interest  you." 

"  Thank  you.    What  newspaper  ?  " 

"  The  Sydney  Morning  Herald,  bearing  date  March 
13,  18 "  replied  the  Colonel. 

"  Twelve  months  ago." 

"  Exactly ! " 

"  The  news  is  certainly  stale." 

"  But  perhaps  none  the  less  interesting  for  all  that. 
Some  kind  of  information,  like  old  wine,  is  all  the 
better  for  being  old.  Shall  I  read  the  paragraph  ?  " 

"  Do  so ! " 

De  Roal  drew  his  chair  nearer  to  the  table,  on  which 
stood  a  small  perfumed  lamp.  Placing  his  gold  eye- 
glass with  due  care  and  nicety,  he  pulled  forth  the 
paper  from  his  doublet  and  began  to  read.  Hilton 
Fernbrook  looked  at  his  companion  with  a  smile,  but 
it  was  the  cold,  habitual  smile  of  the  man  of  the  world. 
Above  it  the  eyes  gleamed  with  a  sinister  expression 
of  disdain,  and  the  brow  frowned  over  the  eyes  like  an 
overhanging  thunder-cloud.  "  '  It  is  now  ascertained 
beyond  a  doubt  that  the  burning  wreck  seen  by  the 
"  Durham  Castle  "  en  route  to  New  Zealand,  was  none 


60          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBEOOK. 

other  than  the  schooner  "  Seagull,"  which  disappeared 
so  mysteriously  from  this  port  some  months  ago.  It 
will  be  remembered  that  the  captain  of  the  "  Seagull," 
engaged  a  crew  of  six  men  for  a  voyage  to  Tonga,  one 
of  the  Fiji  Islands.  On  the  way  the  crew  mutinied, 
and  put  the  skipper  ashore  on  a  small  island  within  a 
day's  sail  of  Hauti,  and  there  left  him  to  his  fate.  By 
a  pure  accident,  Captain  Bowlas  was  discovered  and 
taken  on  board  the  ss. "  Stormbird,"  a  month  afterwards, 
and  brought  on  to  Sydney,  more  dead  than  alive,  after 
terrible  sufferings.' " 

The  reader  paused,  and,  looking  at  his  companion, 
said,  "  My  son,  what  do  you  think  of  it  ?  " 

Hilton  Fernbrook  shrugged  his  broad  shoulders. 
"  Think  of  what,  Colonel  ?  What  interest  can  I  have 
in  the  doings  of  such  wretches  ?  " 

"  Merely  for  study,  dear  boy.  I  know  you  are  fond 
of  describing  the  motive-power  which  moves  the 
criminal  class.  Hear  this  :  '  It  is  known  that  one  of 
the  mutinous  crew  engaged  by  Captain  Bowlas,  of  the 
"  Seagull,"  was,  beyond  doubt,  a  noted  criminal  named 
Victor  Mauprat,  an  escapee  from  Portland  Prison, 
England.  Rumor  hath  it  that  this  convict  is  well 
educated  and  of  good  birth,  his  father  being  no  less  a 
personage  than  M.  Auguste  de  Mauprat,  Consul  at 
Port  Royal,  and  his  mother  Berthe  Pierpoint,  a  Creole, 
of  good  family  in  Jamaica.  He  was  sentenced  to  seven 
year's  penal  servitude  for  killing  a  British  officer  in 
some  gambling  brawl,  and  has  so  far  managed  to  elude 
recapture.  It  is  also  believed  that  another  of  the  crew 
was  formerly  Mauprat's  valet — one  who,  under  the 
name  of  the  Ferret,  was  known  to  the  continental 
police  as  the  most  brilliant  card-sharper  of  the  day. 

" '  Description  of  the  escapees : — Mauprat,  age  about 


COLONEL  DE  ROAL.  61 

twenty-seven,  tall  and  gentlemanly,  military  carriage, 
complexion  very  dark,  but  clear ;  head,  long ;  hair, 
black  and  curly ;  forehead,  high ;  black,  piercing  eyes ; 
well-shaped  nose  and  mouth ;  frame,  strongly  built ; 
hands  and  feet  small.  Mauprat  has  a  peculiar  jail- 
mark  upon  his  shoulder,  which  should  easily  lead  to 
the  detection  of  this  dangerous  criminal.' 

"  Does  this  picture  remind  you  of  anyone  you  are 
acquainted  with,  my  dear  Fernbrook?"  asks  the 
Frenchman,  taking  the  glass  from  his  eye. 

"Why  should  it,  Colonel  de  Roal?" 

"  Oblige  me  by  looking  in  yonder  mirror,  while  I 
re-read  this  description  of  the  escaped  convict,  Victor 
Mauprat,"  says  the  Colonel,  blandly. 

"  Pshaw !  My  dear  sir,"  cried  the  young  man,  with 
a  sharp  laugh, "  your  jesting  is  ill-timed.  Amuse  your- 
self at  my  expense,  if  it  so  pleases  you ;  but  pray  select 
a  more  fitting  model  for  my  likeness." 

The  Colonel  fixed  his  glass,  and  looked  at  him  with 
a  cold  stare  of  surprise,  which  had  in  it  a  subtle  touch 
of  satanic  humor.  "  Don't  be  offended,  my  boy.  You 
are  not  in  a  jesting  humor  to-night,"  he  says,  at  the 
same  time  smoothing  out  the  newspaper  on  the  table. 
"  If  the  points  in  the  photograph  of  our  friend  Mauprat 
do  not  interest  you,  I  will  pass  on  to  those  of  his  fidus 
Achates,  the  Ferret :  it  reads  : — 

" '  Joseph  Hawke,  alias  the  Ferret,  with  many  other 
aliases  too  numerous  to  mention ;  height  five  feet  five 
inches ;  fresh  complexion ;  sandy  hair ;  small  gray 
eyes ;  prominent  nose,  inclining  towards  his  left  cheek ; 
long  scar  on  upper  lip ;  frame,  thin  and  wiry ;  walks 
with  a  slight  limp.' 

"Now,  my  son,  if  I  belonged  to  the  detective  force. 
I  should  certainly  be  of  opinion  that  this  description 


62          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

of  the  Ferret  is  most  singularly  like  the  personage 
who  just  now  left  this  room ;  but  knowing,  as  I  do, 
my  dear  Fernbrook,  that  any  connection  whatever  be- 
tween a  felon  and  your  respectable  man-servant,  no 
matter  how  startling  the  descriptive  likeness  may  be, 
is  an  utter  absurdity,  I  therefore  crave  your  pardon." 

Hilton  Fernbrook  laughs  that  strange  laugh  again 
as  he  rises  to  light  a  fresh  cigar — he  is  fond  of  smok- 
ing ;  it  helps  him  to  think — while  the  Colonel  talks  arid 
reads,  and  goes  on  with  his  senseless  farce  of  simili- 
tude. 

De  Roal  watches  him,  as  he  whiffs  the  fragrant  weed 
into  small  clouds  of  blue  vapor — watches  him  with  a 
smile  on  that  smooth,  unfathomable  face  of  his,  where- 
on there  is  a  look  bordering  on  admiration. 

"  You  have  been  very  dull,  mon  cher,  in  spite  of  the 
riot  going  on  about  you,"  quoth  the  Colonel,  presently. 
"  I  saw  you  were,  and  I  prepared  the  mystery  of  Mau- 
prat  and  the  Ferret  to  rouse  you  up  a  bit.  My  poor 
plot  has  failed.  My  labor  has  been  in  vain.  You  are 
not  interested  one  jot." 

"  Nay,  you  are  wrong ;  I  am  filled  with  gratitude  at 
your  kind  endeavor  to  amuse  me,"  responded  the  other, 
quietly.  "  I  confess  the  description  of  your  convict — 
what's  his  name?  rfimporte — bears  a  strong  resem- 
blance to  my  poor  self,  only  the  picture  drawn  is  some- 
what flattering.  Were  the  rascals  captured  ?  " 

"Captured!  No.  Men  like  this  Victor  Mauprat 
are  not  defeated  on  the  lines  laid  down  in  the  case  of 
ordinary  criminals." 

"  Flattering  again." 

"Nay,  my  son.  What  chimerical  attraction  can 
there  possibly  be  between  a  vile  prison-breaker  and 
the  rich  and  well-born  heir  of  Fernbrook  ?  The  mere 


COLONEL  DE  ROAL.  63 

supposition  has  the  stamp  of  insanity  upon  it.  Fie ! 
Now,  here  is  part  of  another  copy  of  the  same  journal 
of  later  date,  wherein  we  have  the  denouement  of  the 
drama.  I  picked  this  up  on  board  the  steamer  '  Med- 
way,'  on  my  voyage  from  Sydney  to  New  Zealand, 
and  preserved  it,  because  it  contained  an  account  of  a 
terrible  catastrophe  at  sea — the  burning  of  a  ship,  and 
the  loss  of  all  the  crew." 

"  I  am  dull  at  riddles,  my  dear  De  Roal." 

"  This  is  not  a  riddle.  Mauprat,  the  convict,  and  his 
companions  perished  by  fire  on  board  the  '  Seagull ' 
schooner,  burnt  at  sea  on  December  10,  eight  months 
after  their  escape." 

"  Then  Victor  Mauprat  is  dead ! "  exclaimed  Hilton 
Fernbrook,  rising  from  his  seat  and  confronting  the 
Colonel. 

"  Ay,  dead !  "  echoed  the  other,  rising  also,  and  set- 
ting himself  face  to  face  with  his  companion.  "  Will 
you  read  how  this  clever  scoundrel  evaded  his  pursuers, 
how  he  reached  New  South  Wales,  obtained  money, 
and  by  an  able  scheme  chartered  the  ship  which  he 
destroyed  at  sea,  so  that  every  vestige  of  his  crimes 
might  forever  remain  locked  in  the  dark  womb  of 
oblivion  ?  Will  you  read  ?  " 

"  No,"  cried  the  other,  with  solemn  voice.  "  Enough 
that  retribution  has  failed.  Out  of  the  subtle  working 
of  my  mind  the  dread  shadow  has  departed.  From 
henceforth,  Victor  Mauprat  is  dead.  Dead !  De  Roal. 
Do  you  hear?  The  affinity  between  us  twain  is  rent 
asunder.  And  now,  the  dread  and  likeness — ay,  the 
very  double — of  Hilton  Fernbrook  being  fled,  Will — 
mighty,  potent,  stern,  unflinching  Will — shall  assert 
itself." 

As  he  spoke  there  came  into  his  handsome  face  a 


64          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

look  which  made  it  almost  hideous.  From  red  to  white, 
and  from  white  to  dull  ashy  paleness,  and  to  a  yet  deeper 
tinge,  rarely  seen  on  the  human  countenance :  the 
changes  came  and  went  in  rapid  succession  over  the 
Colonel's  vis-a-vis.  No  famishing  jungle  tiger  ever 
had  eyes  more  fierce  and  glaring  than  this  man  had. 
The  deadly  cobra,  reared  on  end  to  strike  its  victim, 
was  not  more  deadly  in  its  attraction,  was  not  more 
certain  in  its  power  of  fascination.  And  there  they 
stood,  these  two  men,  master  and  pupil,  both  strong  in 
the  gift  of  mesmeric  power,  and  in  the  influence  of  will. 
The  Colonel  noted  the  change  in  his  companion  and 
smiled.  He  felt  the  fearless  eyes  fix  themselves,  as 
it  were,  upon  his  own,  in  a  wordless,  bloodless  duel  of 
strength  between  them.  Heretofore  the  pupil  had  been 
docile  and  obedient,  now  it  was  a  test  for  the  mastery. 
Face  to  face,  within  a  step  of  each  other  they  stand, 
their  eyes  fixed  and  steadfast,  but  sparkling  and  emit- 
ting rays  like  fire.  For  a  time  it  seems  as  if  the  elder 
is  going  to  vanquish.  He  is  confident,  smiling,  while 
his  opponent  is  frowning  and  savage.  In  less  time  than 
it  takes  to  pen  these  lines,  the  smile  has  faded  from  the 
Colonel's  face.  He  begins  to  feel  a  stronger  power 
than  his  own  gathering,  slowly  but  surely,  round  his 
inclinations,  his  resolves,  like  a  band  of  steel.  As  a 
mesmerist  he  has  been  all-powerful,  unconquerable. 
He  feels  he  is  being  subdued  now,  in  spite  of  bis  knowl- 
edge— in  spite  of  all  he  can  do.  With  teeth  shut  hard, 
and  breath  quickened,  like  some  spent  swimmer — a 
thought  comes  to  him ;  he  moves  his  hand  in  search  of 
the  revolver  hid  away  in  his  doublet. 

Without  the  faintest  shadow  of  turning  from  that 
terrible  fixed  look  set  straight  into  the  expanded  orbs 
of  his  adversary,  Hilton  Fernbrook  notes  the  movement, 


COLONEL  DE  ROAL.  65 

and  guesses  its  purport.  Ere  the  Colonel  can  raise  his 
hand,  the  other,  swift  as  thought,  seizes  it,  and  thrusts 
something  into  the  palm.  If  a  sudden  sword-thrust 
had  entered  the  veteran's  body,  the  shock  could  not 
have  produced  a  more  striking  change  in  his  whole 
manner.  He  reels  backward,  and  the  perspiration 
begins  to  gather  on  his  face  under  the  agony.  Struggle 
as  gamely  as  he  may,  he  cannot  reach  the  pistol.  There 
is  murder  in  his  desires  and  at  his  heart,  but  the  will 
to  act  is  gone  from  him.  He  feels  it  going,  swallowed 
up  by  the  terrible  creature  before  him,  whose  dreadful 
eye  holds  his  every  faculty  in  bondage.  A  few  mo- 
ments more,  and  the  strong-willed  mesmerist  is  beaten 
by  his  own  weapons.  With  pallid  face,  closed  eyes, 
and  nerveless  hands  clenched,  Colonel  de  Roal  falls  to 
the  floor,  a  senseless,  inert  mass. 

Hilton  Fernbrook  draws  a  long  breath,  which  is 
almost  a  groan  in  its  intensity.  For  a  moment  he  stands 
over  his  fallen  antagonist,  then  raises  him  and  places 
him  in  a  chair,  unlaces  the  doublet  to  give  him  air,  and 
wipes  the  poor  face  with  his  handkerchief. 

"  The  cub  has  grown  stronger  than  the  old  lion,"  he 
muttered,  pouring  out  a  large  goblet  of  strong  wine, 
which  he  emptied  at  a  draught.  "  This  mystery  of 
Victor  Mauprat,  the  convict,  was  but  a  shallow  pretext 
to  work  his  will  on  me.  Fool !  Am  not  I  his  pupil  ? 
Yet  he  is  my  master  no  longer.  Could  he  not  have 
reasoned  better  than  to  deem  me  so  weak — I,  whom 
he  has  schooled  into  a  semblance  of  himself  ?  Humph ! 
What  papers  are  these,  Colonel,  eh !  man  ami  ?  Two 
letters,  and  a  photograph.  Why,  how  is  this  ?  These 
epistles  are  written  by  one  who  signs  himself  Hilton 
Fernbrook.  I  never  wrote  these  documents,  and  am 
not  I  Hilton  Fernbrook?  This  portrait  is  the  sem- 
5 


66          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

blance,  verily  a  faithful  semblance,  of  my  own  self,  even 
in  the  most  minute  particular,  but  who  sat  for  it  ?  Not 
I ;  I  do  hereby  solemnly  swear." 

"How  now,  old  mate?"  he  cried,  turning  to  the 
silent  form  before  him.  "  Whose  letters  and  picture 
are  these  ?  Speak,  if  thou  canst." 

There  was  a  slight  quivering  of  the  Colonel's  body, 
but  no  other  answer  was  given. 

"Pierre  de  Roal,  I  command  thee;  tell  me  whose 
portrait  is  this  I  hold  in  my  hand  ?  "  cried  the  speaker 
again,  at  the  same  time  making  several  rapid  passes 
across  the  sleeper's  face. 

"  Look  at  the  back  of  the  photograph.  It  is  written 
there,"  muttered  the  other,  in  a  low  tone. 

Hilton  Fernbrook  held  the  card  towards  the  light. 

"  *  Victor  Mauprat ! '  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Yes, '  Victor  Mauprat ! ' "  echoed  the  sleeper,  faintly. 

"  He  is  dead,  mon  pere  !  " 

"  Ay !  he  is  dead !  "  again  murmured  the  pallid  lips. 


In  the  gray  dawn,  the  young  Master  of  Fernbrook 
made  his  way  through  the  gay  dancers  to  a  building 
adjoining  the  stables,  where  his  man  Sharpe  was  study- 
ing Grant's  "  Maori  Made  Easy." 

"  Get  up  and  saddle  the  Cardinal,"  he  said  in  a  husky 
tone.  "You  must  reach  Pukehini  to-morrow  night. 
There  you  will  find  Hoti,  Tewarti,  and  young  Rewarti, 
the  Maori  chieftains.  Give  them  these  papers,  and 
bring  their  answer  as  soon  as  possible.  Quick,  away 
with  you ! " 

"  What  if  I  am  beset  on  the  road  ?  "  asked  Sharpe, 
looking  steadily  at  his  master. 

"  Idiot !    You  have  a  revolver.    Now,  begone." 


For  a  moment  he  stands  over  his  fallen  antagonist." 

— Page  6f. 


TE  PAPA'S  RANGEES.  67 


CHAPTER  VI. 

TE    PAPA'S   KANGERS. 

WHILE  the  revellers  at  the  Rock  slept  off  the  fa- 
tigues of  the  night,  the  Ferret,  mounted  on  a  strong 
half-bred  hunter,  and  accompanied  by  McKombo,  the 
Maori  guide,  sped  away  with  all  despatch  to  execute 
his  master's  instructions.  Pukehini  was  a  Maori 
settlement,  the  stronghold  of  the  Waikato  tribes,  of 
which  the  chieftains  Hoti,  Tewarti,  and  Rewarti  were 
head  and  front. 

The  position  of  the  native  hapu  (village)  lay  alto- 
gether out  of  the  track  of  the  Pakeha  and  his  civiliz- 
ing tendencies.  It  was  the  boast  of  these  warriors  that 
the  edicts  of  the  Colonial  Legislature  had  no  power 
over  them,  and  indeed  rarely  had  white  man  set  his 
intrusive  foot  on  this  domain  of  the  last  but  withal  the 
best  and  the  bravest  of  all  the  tribes  of  Maoriland. 

The  progress  of  our  two  travellers  was  slow,  inas- 
much as  the  country  to  be  traversed  was  of  the 
roughest  to  be  found  on  the  surface  of  the  known  globe. 
Gigantic  ridges  of  bare  rock,  rent  and  torn  in  quaint 
shapes,  resembling  towers,  peaks,  and  spires  ;  riven 
cliffs,  giant  trees,  dells  overgrown  with  finest  drapery 
of  ferns  ;  huge  caverns,  echoless  and  gloomy ;  ravines, 
deep  and  dark  ;  hills,  mountains,  and  dense  pathless 
forests,  where  the  tough  tendrils  of  the  supple-jack 
hung  suspended  from  the  tree-tops,  like  tangled  ropes 
from  the  masts  of  a  hundred  wrecked  fleets. 


68          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

Grim,  bold  land  of  the  Maori !  Many  a  strange  day- 
dream have  I  had  among  thy  silent  solitudes.  As  a 
wanderer  in  thy  wilds,  I  first  discovered  that  mighty 
world — the  mind  within  me.  And  with  what  shapes, 
what  pictures  did  the  teeming  brain  fill  all  thy  weird 
landscapes  !  Romance  had  never  stretched  its  airy 
wings  over  the  fairy  bowers,  the  giant  castles,  guarded 
with  moat  and  keep  and  tower,  in  this  Eden  of  the 
ideal. 

Ah,  me  !  I  prophesy  that  the  bright  vision  of  ro- 
mance shall  have  its  place  here,  O  Maoriland !  Adown 
the  darkling  vista  of  the  coming  ages,  I  see  the  dim 
shapes  of  scribes — the  willing  slaves  of  art,  who  shall 
plant  their  standard  in  thy  glens  and  on  thy  mountains. 
And  the  teeming  millions  yet  to  come  on  this  vast 
continent  at  the  Antipodes  shall  have  rest  from  toil — 
rest  for  the  weary  brain  and  the  aching  heart — amongst 
the  visions  that  ye  shall  inspire  on  the  pages  of  song 
and  story — visions  that  shall  never  fade  until  the  great 
trumpet  sound. 

It  was  on  the  second  morning  of  this  journey  that 
the  Ferret  and  his  companion  encountered  a  party  of 
Maoris,  on  the  other  side  of  the  Hunna  Ranges.  This 
was  a  detachment,  numbering  thirty  men  of  Te  Papa's 
Rangers,  a  kind  of  guerilla  force  composed  mostly  of 
the  tribe  of  the  dead  chief  whose  name  they  bore,  and 
who  had  organized  them  during  his  feuds  with  the 
Pakeha.  They  were  banditti,  the  whole  corps,  and 
hated  the  Pakeha  and  all  his  belongings  with  a  hatred 
that  often  found  vent  in  many  diabolical  outrages 
amongst  the  unprotected  settlers.  In  the  war  of 
1852  it  was  a  well-known  fact  that  these  warriors  gave 
no  quarter  to  the  white  man,  save  and  except  those  few 
who  were  known  to  be  living  amongst  them.  They 


TE  PAPA'S  RANGERS.  C9 

proved  themselves  to  be  the  best  fighting  men  on  the 
Maori  side  in  many  a  stubborn  engagement ;  hence  the 
Maori  Council  allowed  them  to  do  pretty  well  as  they 
pleased  either  in  the  hapti  or  in  the  field. 

The  physical  appearance  of  the  men  was  certainly 
good  ;  they  appeared  straight,  well  limbed  fellows,  and 
were  uniformed  like  a  band  of  Spanish  gypsies.  Each 
warrior  carried  a  double-barrelled  fowling-piece  slung 
across  his  shoulder,  besides  being  armed  with  the 
formidable  meri,  or  war  club. 

The  leader  of  these  Maoris,  a  thick-set  ugly-looking 
savage,  halted  his  men,  and  interrogated  McKombo, 
after  which  search  was  made  upon  the  person  of  Mr. 
Timothy  Sharpe,  and  a  sealed  paper  produced,  tied 
with  a  piece  of  raw  flax.  "  Where  are  you  going  ? " 
asked  the  Maori,  addressing  his  countryman. 

"To  Pukehini." 

"  For  what  purpose  ?  " 

"  Our  mission  is  to  bear  that  letter  to  the  chieftains 
Hoti,  Tewarti,  and  Rewarti." 

"  Who  has  sent  you  ?  " 

"  Fernbrook,  the  Pakeha,  our  master ! " 

The  leader  of  Te  Papa's  Rangers  opened  wide  his 
eyes  at  the  name,  and  gave  that  suggestive  grunt  so 
peculiar  to  the  Maori  when  in  a  state  of  doubt.  After 
fondling  the  missive  in  his  hand  for  a  few  moments 
he  thrust  it  into  the  pocket  of  his  tamba,  and  said, 
"  We  are  going  to  Pukehini.  You  shall  journey  with 
us.  I  have  spoken." 

After  that  brief  sentence,  McKombo  knew  it  would 
be  useless  to  appeal.  In  a  moment  they  were  sur- 
rounded by  the  Rangers,  and  the  word  was  given  to 
march. 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  feelings  of  the  Ferret 


70          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

at  the  unexpected  appearance  of  the  Maoris,  he  suf- 
fered neither  surprise  nor  fear  to  betray  itself  in  his 
manner.  His  first  thought  had  been  resistance,  but 
he  saw  that  it  would  be  hopeless  against  so  many  ; 
besides,  it  flashed  across  his  mind  that  his  master's 
letter  would  be  sacred  with  these  men,  let  its  contents 
be  what  they  might.  For  the  rest,  he  cared  nothing. 
With  passive  obedience  he  joined  his  companion  and 
made  the  most  of  his  smattering  of  Maori  amongst 
the  Rangers. 

About  noon  the  party  crossed  the  Tateroa  Range, 
where  a  good  view  of  the  valley  and  the  Waikato  River 
was  obtained.  At  first  a  dense  fog  hung  over  the  broad 
expanse  of  waters,  but  this  soon  lifted  and  disclosed  a 
large  homestead  some  two  miles  distant,  and  situated 
on  the  bank  of  the  river. 

The  Maori  had  taken  the  precaution  to  disarm  both 
McKombo  and  the  Ferret,  otherwise  there  was  no  re- 
straint placed  upon  them.  The  farm  they  were  ap- 
proaching presented  the  appearance  of  a  thriving  little 
station  of  about  one  hundred  and  thirty  acres  in  extent : 
a  roomy  house  with  garden  and  farm,  nestled  in  a  ring 
of  tall  kauri  pines,  with  the  river  flowing  between. 

The  Maori  led  his  men  straight  through  the  orchard 
into  the  barn,  where  two  fine  rosy  children  were  at 
play.  They  no  sooner  saw  the  natives  than  they  fled 
into  the  house  and  gave  the  alarm.  The  farmer,  one 
Roger  Gordon,  a  Scotchman,  was  at  dinner  with  his 
wife,  and  was  unaware  of  the  arrival  of  his  mortal 
enemies,  until  his  children  ran  in  to  inform  him.  The 
poor  fellow  was  almost  paralyzed  by  the  news,  and 
was  utterly  incapable  of  meeting  the  emergency.  Not 
so  Mrs.  Gordon  ;  the  love  of  her  little  ones  endowed 
her  with  a  presence  of  mind  and  courage  worthy  a 


TE  PAPA'S  RANGERS.  71 

Spartan.  She  well  knew  the  merciless  cruelty  of  her 
unwelcome  visitors.  To  beg  and  plead  with  them 
would  be  useless.  Help  there  was  none.  Her  nearest 
neighbor  was  a  dozen  miles  away.  The  province 
altogether  was  a  very  scattered  one,  being  the  most 
remote  from  the  Northern  Metropolis. 

Taking  her  husband  by  the  arm,  Mrs.  Gordon  led 
him  round  to  the  store-room ;  here  were  stowed 
away  amongst  other  goods  several  parcels  of  colored 
blankets,  for  on  these  outlying  stations  it  was  the 
usual  custom  to  supply  the  hands  employed  at  harvest 
time  with  such  commodities.  The  farmer,  assisted 
by  his  wife,  trundled  the  goods  into  the  barn. 

The  Maori  warriors  were  seated  in  a  circle  by  this 
time,  smoking  and  talking;  they  appeared  quite  to 
ignore  the  presence  of  Gordon  and  his  helpmate.  The 
latter  without  a  word,  however,  ripped  up  the  bale  and 
placed  a  blanket  at  the  feet  of  each  of  the  Rangers. 
When  she  had  completed  the  circle,  there  remained 
three  blankets,  these  she  laid  before  the  chief  of  the 
party.  Not  by  look  or  gesture  did  the  savages  betray 
any  interest  in  the  proceedings,  yet  they  saw  every- 
thing that  was  done,  even  to  the  most  trifling  par- 
ticular. 

Dame  Gordon  left  the  barn  when  she  had  finished 
distributing  the  blankets,  but  returned  immediately 
with  a  plate  on  which  was  sprinkled  some  fine  salt. 
She  approached  the  chief  and  held  the  dish  before  him. 
The  savage  turned  his  bloodshot  eyes  for  a  moment 
towards  the  bent  form  of  the  woman,  then  to  the  offer- 
ing held  out  to  him.  By  this  time  the  children,  six  in 
number,  were  gathered  round  their  mother  with  wonder- 
ing looks ;  the  eyes  of  the  Maori  chief  wandered  from 
the  salt  to  the  little  ones ;  then  he  rose,  seized  the 


72          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

plate,  and  ate  a  portion  of  its  contents ;  each  of  his 
companions,  save  the  Ferret  and  his  guide,  followed 
his  example,  and  the  Gordons  knew  that  from  hence- 
forth, war  or  no  war,  they  and  their  belongings  were 
sacred  to  the  Rangers  of  Te  Papa. 

Ere  five  minutes  had  elapsed  the  warriors  gathered 
up  their  gifts  and  departed.  They  had  evidently  gone 
out  of  their  way  to  destroy  these  poor  settlers,  but  the 
tact  of  Dame  Gordon  had  saved  them.  To  the  Maori 
salt  is  a  pledge  of  friendship,  which  is  never  broken  by 
them  unless  through  revenge.  If  the  Rangers  had 
been  checkmated  in  the  desire  to  punish  the  Gordons, 
they  evidently  were  not  to  be  turned  aside  from  their 
fell  purpose  of  destruction  and  murder  in  another 
direction.  Some  distance  down  the  river  was  a  cattle 
ranche  known  as  the  "Falls,"  owned  by  a  Captain 
Burton,  a  retired  mariner.  The  house  lay  amid  a 
small  forest  of  gigantic  pines ;  it  was  a  lone,  wild 
place,  and  tenanted  only  by  the  Captain,  who  was  a 
bachelor,  and  two  men. 

The  filibusters  approached  this  domicile  cautiously, 
and  managed  to  get  within  range  of  it  without  being 
observed.  It  was  a  large  two-storied  house  surrounded 
by  a  well-laid-out  garden,  and  with  all  the  et-caeteras 
of  a  flourishing  cattle  station.  The  Maori  leader  guided 
his  men  to  the  front  door  and  attempted  to  gain  an 
entrance ;  but  the  door  was  locked,  and  resisted  all 
their  efforts  to  force  it  open.  Baffled  in  their  attempts 
to  gain  admittance  through  the  door,  and  not  wishing 
to  disturb  the  inmates,  one  of  the  natives  handed  his 
gun  to  a  companion,  and  scrambled  up  the  wall  by 
the  aid  of  a  tough  creeper,  so  as  to  enter  by  one  of  the 
windows.  The  Maori,  with  some  skill  and  in  perfect 
silence,  reached  the  upper  story  and  laid  his  hand  on 


TE  PAPA'S  RANGERS.  73 

the  ledge  of  the  aperture,  but  at  the  same  moment 
there  was  a  loud  report,  and  the  savage  fell  headlong 
to  the  ground,  a  corpse. 

Immediately  the  window  was  thrown  open,  and  a 
fierce-looking,  red-faced,  elderly  man  was  seen  stand- 
ing revolver  in  hand.  "  What  do  ye  here,  ye  pack  of 
thieves  ? "  he  cried  out  hoarsely.  "  Curse  you !  I'll 
rake  you  stem  and  stern  if  you  don't  sheer  off — ye  sons 
of  guns ! " 

The  shot  and  the  fall  of  the  dead  savage  had  been 
so  unexpected  that  the  murderous  band  fell  back  be- 
hind the  trees.  The  chief,  however,  did  not  move. 

"  Open  the  door,  Pakeha,"  said  he  in  his  deep  gut- 
tural tone. 

"  I'll  see  you  hanged  first,"  cried  the  old  salt  defi- 
antly. "  Why  should  I  open  my  door  to  a  plundering 
hound  like  you  ?  I  know  you  for  a  gang  of  murdering 
wretches,  in  whom  there  is  neither  pity  nor  honor. 
Leave  this  place  !  I  saw  your  approach,  and  am  pre- 
pared for  you." 

"  Will  you  open  the  door  ? "  repeated  the  chief, 
beckoning  to  his  warriors  to  approach. 

"  Certainly  not,"  answered  the  voice  of  the  old  sailor. 
"  This  house  and  this  land  are  mine ;  I  have  paid  for 
every  stone,  every  rood  of  it  with  honest  coin." 

"  Ugh !    Open,  I  say  ;  we  are  many,"  cried  the  chief. 

"  I  don't  care  a  brass  button  how  many  there  are  of 
you,"  roared  the  Captain.  "I'm  in  command  here, 
and  I'll  send  some  of  you  to  blazes,  as  sure  as  my 
name's  Tom  Burton,  if  you  dare  to  try  and  come  aboard 
here." 

"The  Pakeha  shall  have  one  minute  to  decide," 
said  the  chief.  "  If  he  does  not  open  the  door  then 
we  will  break  it  down." 


74          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

"  Here  is  my  answer,"  cried  the  old  man,  bending 
forward  and  aiming  at  the  chief.  "Take  that,  you 
ruffian." 

The  shot  knocked  the  feather  out  of  the  leader's 
headgear,  and  striking  a  Maori  near  him  full  on  the 
breast,  killed  him  on  the  spot.  In  an  instant  a  dozen 
guns  belched  forth  their  deadly  contents  at  the  window, 
the  glass  and  the  framework  of  which  was  shattered 
into  a  thousand  fragments. 

For  the  space  of  five  minutes  there  was  a  tremendous 
battering  at  the  door,  which  gave  way  at  length,  and 
the  infuriated  banditti  entered  en  masse.  There  was  a 
broad  staircase  leading  from  the  hall  to  the  upper 
story.  At  the  head  of  the  stair  stood  Captain  Burton, 
revolver  in  hand,  and  with  a  set,  dogged  bull-dog  look 
upon  his  face,  which  convinced  his  enemies  that  the  old 
Pakeha  would  fight  it  out  to  the  death.  The  leader 
of  the  gang  had  one  hand  on  the  stair-rail,  but  drew 
back  at  the  sight  of  the  brave  old  Anglo-Saxon  at  bay. 

"  Will  the  Pakeha  surrender  quietly  ? "  asked  the 
chief  once  more. 

"  Surrender,  be  hanged !  "  cried  old  Burton,  in  a 
hoarse  tone  of  contempt,  and  at  the  same  time  setting 
his  back  to  the  wall.  "I  know  that  surrender  means 
with  devils  of  your  stamp.  No ;  old  Tom  Burton  ain't 
a-going  to  the  bottom  like  a  swab  and  a  lubber  with- 
out a  tussle  for  it.  Keep  back !  If  there  were  a  hun- 
dred more  of  ye  I  would  fight  it  out.  Curse  you !  " 

A  tall  savage,  less  patient  than  his  companions, 
made  a  sudden  spring  up  the  stair,  but  a  bullet  from 
the  Captain's  revolver  hit  him  in  the  throat,  and  he 
rolled  backward,  dead.  Two  more  made  a  rush  in  the 
same  way  and  instantly  met  the  fate  of  the  first  one. 
This  was  but  the  beginning  of  the  end.  Like  a  pack 


TE  PAPA'S  RANGERS.  75 

of  bloodhounds  that  had  run  their  prey  to  earth,  the 
Maoris  were  not  to  be  balked  of  their  victim.  What 
could  one  man  do  against  such  odds  ?  With  shouts  and 
cries  they  reached  the  gallant  old  boy  at  length,  and 
dragged  him  down  the  stairs.  In  his  desperation  he 
clung  tenaciously  to  the  rails,  and,  in  spite  of  all  the 
efforts  of  his  foes,  they  could  not  unloose  his  hands, 
until  one  Maori,  more  cruel  than  the  rest,  severed  the 
fingers  of  the  unyielding  hero  with  his  tomahawk. 

They  bound  up  the  maimed  hand  in  derision,  and  led 
the  captive  into  the  dining-room.  The  long  table  there- 
in was  reared  on  end  by  them,  and  to  it  they  fastened 
the  Captain  with  a  stout  cord. 

"Will  the  Pakeha  surrender  now?"  sneeringly  in- 
quired the  leader  of  the  gang,  with  malicious  triumph. 

"  No !  Te  Papa  was  a  murderer ;  his  followers  are 
murderers.  Te  Papa  is  dead.  So  shall  perish  all  who 
love  murder." 

"  Tut !  The  Pakeha  rob  the  Maori  of  his  land,  there- 
fore they  murder  the  Pakehas,"  said  the  chief. 

"  Who  can  say  that  I  have  robbed  or  hurt  one  of 
your  race  ?  "  echoed  the  old  man. 

"  Humph !  The  Pakehas  are  one  race — see  these 
dead  warriors !  " 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  responded  the  doomed  man,  with  a 
grim  smile ;  "  life  for  life.  Enough !  your  trade  is 
plunder  and  slaughter.  Come,  finish  your  diabolical 
purpose.  I  do  not  fear  you." 

The  old  man  spoke  no  more.  He  was  hoisted  bodily 
upward,  with  the  table,  and  placed  against  the  wall. 
Then  these  ruthless  savages  began  a  terrible  scene, 
which  made  even  the  Ferret  shudder  with  horror. 


76          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  HEIGHTS  OF    TOMAETU. 

Two  days  after  the  events  recorded  in  the  last 
chapter  the  marauders  of  Te  Papa's  Rangers  reached 
the  valley  of  Pukehini.  Here  Paul  Titori,  the  military 
genius  of  the  Maoris,  had  assembled  every  warrior  that 
could  bear  arms  throughout  the  Waikato.  Tewarti 
and  Rewarti  brought  ten  thousand  men  to  his  banner. 
The  treaty  of  Waitanga  had  been  broken.  The  war 
which  now  loomed  over  the  land  had  its  rise  in  the 
Waitora  district.  Titori  sold  the  Government  some 
two  million  acres,  and,  after  the  purchase,  locked  up 
the  land  against  those  sent  out  to  occupy  it. 

Remonstrance  was  of  no  avail.  The  hot  blood  of  the 
Maoris  could  not  withstand  the  temptation  to  fight  and 
drive  the  Pakehas  into  the  sea.  Amongst  the  young 
warriors  there  was  boasting  enough,  if  that  alone  could 
have  done  it.  Possibly  their  boasting  was  not  al- 
together vain.  It  was  well  known  to  the  Government 
that  within  twelve  months  the  Waikato  chieftains  had 
expended  thirty  thousand  pounds  in  guns,  lead,  and 
caps.  Well  armed,  with  an  abundant  commissariat  of 
karatea,  potatoes,  and  wild  pigs,  stored  in  various  parts 
of  the  colony,  they  felt  confident  of  victory.  Moreover, 
the  leader  of  the  rebel  host  knew  what  a  valuable 
auxiliary  he  had  in  his  women.  They  were  an  "  Army 
Works  Corps "  in  themselves.  A  Maori  woman,  in 
peace  or  war,  can  do  as  much  work  as  a  man.  Her 


THE  HEIGHTS  OF  TOMARTU.  77 

arms  are  strong ;  her  will  to  do,  right  good.  Strapping 
the  flax-made  basket  of  provender  on  her  shoulders, 
this  dusky  Amazon  will  carry  a  fourth  of  the  load  of 
a  mule  through  forests  that  no  mule  could  live  in,  and, 
save  in  meeting  the  foe,  she  is  fully  as  effective  in  the 
field  as  the  warriors  themselves. 

From  the  heights  of  Tomartu  above  the  valley  the 
sight  was  a  very  imposing  one.  On  the  south  side  of 
the  vale  the  Maori  warriors  were  mustered  in  three 
divisions,  while  above  the  dark  solid  mass  rose  the 
KihO)  or  split  rock.  Legend  hath  it  that  Tonga  of  old 
split  this  vast  dome  with  a  blow  of  his  fist.  On  the 
crown  of  the  mount  were  gathered  five  chieftains, 
the  heads  of  the  Waikato  people.  They  were  seated 
in  a  circle,  in  the  centre  of  which  stood  Paul  Titori, 
Hilton  Fernbrook's  letter  in  his  hand.  He  had  just 
read  its  contents,  and  stood  leaning  carelessly  against 
the  pole  from  which  the  flag  of  the  Maoris  floated  on  the 
apex  of  the  Kiho.  A  handsome,  devil-may-care  fellow, 
this  Titori,  if  the  index  of  his  features  and  his  manner 
went  for  anything.  Unlike  his  companions,  this  Maori 
had  not  a  tattoo  mark  upon  him.  A  clear  olive  com- 
plexion, straight-cut  nose  and  mouth,  gave  him  all  the 
appearance  of  a  Moor  of  Spain.  His  dress  was  wholly 
European  save  for  a  bright  scarlet  handkerchief  wound 
about  his  head. 

"  What  answer  shall  we  send  to  our  friend  at  the 
Barrier  Rock  ? "  he  asked  at  length,  turning  to  the 
silent  circle. 

"He  is  a  Pakeha.  Why  should  he  wish  to  fight 
against  his  race  ?  "  replied  Te  Honti  of  Waitana. 

"  Nay,  his  mother  -was  a  Maori,  and  from  boyhood 
he  has  been  a  friend  to  our  people,"  responded  Titori. 
"  Here,  in  this  letter,  Fernbrook  of  the  Rock  swears 


78          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

to  espouse  our  cause  to  the  death.  The  question  is— 
Shall  he  be  admitted  to  our  councils  ?  " 

"What  guarantee  have  we  that  this  man  is  not 
a  traitor  and  a  spy,  who  seeks  our  friendship  only  to 
betray  us  ?  "  demanded  young  Rewarti. 

"  An  excellent  hostage,  iny  eagle,"  answered  Paul 
Titori,  looking  again  at  the  letter  in  his  hand.  "  He 
says  the  daughter  of  Te  Papa  shall  be  his  bondswoman; 
I  have  spoken." 

There  was  a  loud  murmur  of  approval  when  the  name 
of  Te  Coro  was  announced. 

"  My  voice  is  for  the  young  Pakeha,"  cried  Te  Rauga 
of  Taranaki. 

"  And  mine,  and  mine,"  echoed  the  others.  "  Let 
him  come,  and  bring  the  hostage  with  him." 

Paul  Titori  knelt  down  and  wrote  a  few  lines  on  the 
back  of  Hilton  Fernbrook's  letter,  then  he  summoned 
McKombo  and  the  Ferret. 

"  Prepare  to  return  to  the  Barrier  at  once,"  he  said 
to  the  former  in  Maori.  "Give  this  letter  to  your 
master.  Twenty  warriors  shall  accompany  you  to 
Wangatura.  Go ! " 

McKombo  turned  to  depart,  followed  by  the  Ferret, 
but,  at  a  sign  from  Titori,  Joe  Sharpe  was  led  back  to 
the  valley  by  a  small  escort  of  Te  Papa's  Rangers,  to 
be  kept  in  durance  vile  pending  the  arrival  of  his  lord 
and  master. 

And  now  from  the  high  peak  of  the  Kiho  the  blood- 
red  flag  was  lowered  and  hoisted  again,  like  the  dipping 
of  the  ensign  of  a  man-of-war  in  salutation. 

This  was  the  signal  for  a  commotion  in  the  ranks 
of  the  multitude  in  the  valley  below.  In  the  space  of  a 
few  minutes  the  whole  of  the  tribes  formed  themselves 
into  two  divisions,  with  a  distance  of  about  fifty  yards 


THE  HEIGHTS  OF  TOMARTU.  79 

between  them,  the  ranks  being  four  deep.  Many  had 
divested  themselves  of  tamba  and  toga  and  stood 
almost  nude,  their  bodies  daubed  in  a  diabolical  manner 
with  red  and  white  stripes. 

When  the  two  columns  had  formed  up  opposite  each 
other,  Te  Rauga  of  Taranaki  descended  from  the  hill, 
armed  only  with  his  meri,  and  placed  himself  between 
them. 

What  was  going  to  happen?  They  were  going  to 
dance  the  War  Dance. 

This  is  a  custom  as  old  as  the  Maoris  themselves, 
but  only  performed  in  time  of  war. 

Standing  silently  for  a  short  time,  the  entire  ranks 
squat  down  on  the  ground  as  if  by  mutual  consent. 
Suddenly,  at  a  given  signal  from  the  mount,  the  war- 
riors start  to  their  feet,  each  balancing  his  weapon  in 
his  right  hand.  With  the  regularity  of  an  army  corps, 
each  Maori  elevates  his  right  leg  and  the  right  side  of 
his  body,  then  the  left  leg  and  left  side ;  and  then,  like 
a  flash  of  lightning,  the  dark  division  leap  three  feet 
in  the  air,  brandishing  their  guns  and  raising  such  a 
succession  of  horrid  shrieks  as  never  fell  upon  the 
ears  of  mortal  European.  From  frantic  yells  the  noises 
terminate  with  one  long  deep-drawn  sigh,  accompanied 
with  gaping  mouths,  inflated  nostrils,  distorted  faces, 
out-hanging  tongues,  and  fixed,  staring  eyes. 

To  me  is  not  given  the  power  to  paint  in  words  the 
picture  of  this  dread  ceremony ;  no  one  can  faithfully 
describe  it ;  yet  the  scene  is  vividly  before  my  mind's 
eye — the  strange  motley  ranks,  the  contorted,  hellish 
faces  absolutely  frightful  beyond  the  line  of  ugliest 
humanity. 

Again  and  again  these  movements  are  repeated,  and 
time  is  marked  by  striking  the  left  palm  on  the  thigh 


80          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

so  as  to  produce  one  sound.  Anon,  working  themselves 
up  into  a  state  of  temporary  insanity,  the  grim  forces 
rush  madly  at  each  other  in  mimic  strife.  With  the 
fury  of  wild  beasts  they  yell,  and  grapple,  and  stab ; 
each  selecting  a  foeman  worthy  of  his  steel.  It  is  but 
a  mock  warfare  after  all.  Underneath  it,  however, 
there  is  a  subtle  sign,  well  known  to  that  small  circle 
grouped  on  the  Kiho. 

It  means  death  and  destruction  to  many  a  peaceful 
colonist,  wrapped  up  within  the  fancied  security  of  his 
smiling  domain. 

It  means  fire,  and  sword,  and  murder  to  innocent 
men,  women,  and  children.  It  means  war ! — war  to 
the  death,  without  pity  and  without  mercy. 

God  help  us  all  when  such  a  fiend  is  let  loose  to  mar 
His  handiwork ! 


VELIS  ET  REMIS.  81 


CHAPTER  VIII 

VELIS   ET   EEMIS. 

MOUNT  with  me  upon  the  rosy  wings  of  poesy.  Oh, 
my  reader,  if  thou  art  of  the  money-getting  tribe  of  this 
dull  globe,  and  canst  not  rise  up  to  the  viewless  way, 
take  thou  a  deep  draught  of  the  blushful  Hippocrene. 
It  hath  lain  long  in  the  cool  earth.  Drink  thou !  Fade ; 
dissolve ;  forget  the  perplexities  of  the  slow  brain,  and 
the  weariness  that  retards  one  here,  where  youth  grows 
pale,  and  leaden-eyed  despair  shakes  the  hoary  head 
with  palsy.  Away !  away !  let  us  shake  off  the  modern 
Moloch,  with  the  double  face  of  brass  and  steel. 
Tender  is  the  night ;  the  Queen  Moon,  ringed  in  by 
hosts  of  starry  fays,  is  shining  forth  from  heaven  to 
light  us.  Mount  and  away ! 

Land  of  Te  Papa !  good-night  to  thee !  Good-night 
to  thy  rocks  and  chasms,  bold  and  rugged  as  the  hearts 
of  thy  swarthy  sons,  who  meditate  murder  and  call  it 
war.  Good-night !  When  the  morning  breaks,  we  will 
return  again  to  thy  shores.  Away  on  the  wings  of  poesy, 
from  the  new  to  the  older  world.  Swift  as  thought  can 
carry  us,  we  pass  across  the  face  of  the  great  deep. 
Behold  seven-hilled  Rome ;  Genoa,  the  city  of  palaces, 
with  its  huge  piles  of  masonry — the  Great  Britain  of  the 
Middle  Ages.  Out  yonder  looms  Milan,  within  a  setting 
of  mountain  peaks,  blue  and  amethystine.  Far  below 
us  shimmers  the  great  cathedral,  with  its  countless 
tapering  spires,  seeming  only  a  fairy  delusion  of  frost- 
6 


82          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

work  under  the  moon.  Raphael,  Michael  Angelo, 
Canova,  ye  live  again  in  this  your  giant  creation. 
Away  over  thy  deep  waters  entrancing  Como  !  Dark- 
ness holds  within  her  sable  shroud  its  rich  unparal- 
leled enchantments,  that  drift  behind  and  are  lost. 

Hi,  presto !  What  is  this  ? — with  its  towers  and 
domes  and  steeples  drowsing  in  the  pale  light. 

It  is  Venice!  Once,  the  haughty  republic — the 
autocrat  of  commerce — the  old  Venice  of  song  and 
story.  Here,  at  the  head  of  the  Giant  Stairway  where 
Marino  Faliero  was  beheaded,  and  where  the  Doges 
of  old  were  crowned,  we  bid  adieu  to  our  winged 
charioteer.  Au  revoirJ 


Sweet  solemn  night,  full  of  romance  and  of  poetry, 
how  beautiful  art  thou !  But  more  beautiful  than  pen 
can  describe  appeared  the  ancient  city  on  the  20th 
day  of  June,  18 — .  It  was  the  evening  on  which  the 
greatest  of  its  many  festivals  is  celebrated  with  all  that 
pomp  and  abandon  peculiar  to  this  dark-eyed  race. 
It  was  the  grand  fUe  in  honor  of  San  Spiridion,  and 
all  Venice  was  abroad  on  the  waters  of  the  Grand 
Canal. 

Right  from  the  water's  edge  rose  long  lines  of  stately 
palaces  of  marble  ;  gondolas  were  gliding  swiftly  hither 
and  thither,  and  disappearing  suddenly  through  un- 
expected gates  and  alleys  ;  ponderous  stone  bridges 
threw  their  shadows  athwart  the  glittering  waves. 
Everywhere  there  was  life  and  motion,  with  soft  music 
over  all,  and  yet  everywhere  there  was  a  hush,  a 
stealthy  stillness,  that  was  suggestive  of  secret  enter- 
prises, of  bravos  and  lovers — who,  clad  half  in  moon- 
beams, half  in  mysterious  shadows,  glided  near  princely 


VELIS  ET  REMIS.  83 

cavalier  or  soft-eyed  patrician  beauty.  Venice  by  night  ( 
It  was  dreamy  beautiful  picture.  In  the  full  glare  of 
day,  rags  and  poverty  and  misery  were  plentiful ;  but 
under  the  chaste  moon,  her  stained  palaces  are  white 
again,  their  battered  sculptures  are  hidden  in  shadows, 
and  the  old  city  appears  crowned  once  more  with  the 
grandeur  that  was  here  when  Shylock  in  gabardine, 
Othello,  Desdemona,  and  lago  walked  its  streets. 

Beyond  the  "  Bridge  of  Sighs,"  in  a  vast  space  over 
two  miles  wide,  were  several  thousand  gondolas,  con- 
taining the  wealth  and  beauty  of  Venice.  From  every 
boat  there  hung  from  six  to  a  dozen  colored  lanterns. 
As  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  these  painted  lights 
were  merged  together  like  a  huge  garden  of  many- 
colored  flowers,  save  that  the  blossoms  were  never 
still. 

Mingling  together,  in  a  bewildering  maze,  they 
glided  in  and  out  ceaselessly,  and  defied  your  attempts 
to  follow  their  pathless  evolutions.  Ever  and  anon 
there  rose  up  a  strong  red,  green,  or  blue  glare  from 
some  huge  firework,  splendidly  illuminating  all  the 
boats  around  it.  There  was  music  everywhere.  Solos, 
choruses,  string  bands,  and  guitars  wailed  on  until 
you  became  inspired  with  the  spirit  of  the  strange 
scene. 

There  was  one  magnificent  gondola,  with  cushions 
and  canopy  of  Persian  silk,  whose  massive  golden  tas- 
sels trailed  in  the  water,  drawn  up  close  to  the  broad 
stairs  leading  to  the  piazza  of  St.  Mark.  Many  a  wist- 
ful look  was  cast  towards  this  vessel  by  the  passers- 
by.  Its  occupants  were  two  young  men,  who  by  their 
language  and  their  dress  were  evidently  not  Venetians. 
Every  gondola  that  glided  by  them,  with  its  crescent 
and  pyramids  of  light,  illuminated  the  faces  of  those 


84          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

seated  therein,  and  glances  of  curiosity,  and  betimes 
of  envy,  were  cast  at  the  pair  of  strangers. 

"  So  this  is  Venice ! — the  wonder  of  the  old  world," 
says  one  of  the  occupants  of  the  gorgeous  gondola, 
turning  to  his  companion,  and  speaking  excellent  Eng- 
lish. "  Ma  foi,  my  friend  Alton  Lyndhurst,  if  your 
pen  can  describe  this  sight,  with  its  light  and  shade, 
then  shall  the  pages  of  your  latest  effort  be  handed 
down  to  all  posterity." 

Alton  Lyndhurst  laughs,  stretches  his  shapely  legs 
to  the  fullest  extent  of  the  gilded  barge,  and  with 
something  between  a  groan  and  sigh  replies :  "  The 
picture  is  certainly  wonderful  that  has  the  power 
to  charm  prosaic,  matter-of-fact  Ralph  Warne  into 
anything  warmer  than  a  mere  practical  grunt  of 
approval." 

"  Corpo  di  Baccho!  as  they  say  hereabouts.  You 
are  severe  upon  your  unfortunate  friend,"  cried 
Warne,  fixing  his  eyeglass,  and  pelting  a  handful  of 
confectionery  at  a  passing  gondola  filled  with  ladies. 
"  They  say  poetry  and  all  that  sort  of  thing  is  as  catch- 
ing as  a  malignant  fever ;  perhaps  I  have  caught  some- 
thing of  your  complaint." 

"  Egad !  I  hope  not,"  cried  the  journalist,  with  sud- 
den but  mock  solemnity.  "  It  is  sufficient  that  one  of 
us  should  be  afflicted.  Besides,  the  Muses  .would  have 
but  a  sorry  time  of  it  with  such  a  lazy  beggar  as  you 
are." 

"  Oh,  thank  you !  But  seriously,  my  dear  boy,  don't 
you  think  it  would  be  as  well  if  you  copied  me  a  little 
more  in  that  direction  ?  Work  is  all  very  well  in  its 
way,  as  my  padre  used  to  say  when  he  made  his  clerks 
work  fifteen  hours  out  of  the  twenty-four,  yet  all  work 
and  no  play  makes  Jack  a  dull  boy.  Here  have  you 


VELIS  ET  REMIS.  85 

been  slaving  at  that  new  book  of  yours  until  you  look 
about  as  brisk  and  as  lively  as  an  owl  in  the  sun." 

"  Pooh !  I  was  born  to  work,"  answered  Lyndhurst, 
with  a  smile.  "  Toil  to  me  is  what  indolence  may  be 
to  you,  mon  cher.  Remember,  I  am  not  a  banker's 
son." 

"  Hang  the  banker's  son !  No,  pardon  me.  I  don't 
mean  that,"  cried  Warne,  hastily  correcting  himself. 
"  I  hate  personalities.  You  know,  we  left  New  Zea- 
land for  a  holiday  tour  of  twelve  months." 

"True." 

"  Well,  half  the  time  has  flown,  and  we've  seen  noth- 
ing— done  nothing." 

"  You  mean  you  have  done  nothing  and  seen  nothing, 
save  perhaps  the  dark  eyes  of  a  certain  demoiselle  of 
this  ruined  Queen  of  the  Adriatic,"  said  Lyndhurst, 
slyly. 

"  Fiddlestick ! "  cried  the  other,  his  fair  face  blushing 
crimson  under  his  eyeglass.  "Will  you  be  serious 
for  a  minute  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  Hadn't  we  better  push  off  into  mid- 
stream before  you  unfold  your  love-lorn  tale  ?  " 

"  I'll  push  you  neck  and  heels  into  the  canal,  if  you 
don't  cease  your  nonsense,"  said  Warne,  with  a  good- 
humored  smile. 

"  Which  means,  I  suppose,  that  you'll  do  me  the 
honor  to  marry  me  to  the  Adriatic,  as  did  the  Doges 
in  the  olden  time.  Pray  don't  attempt  the  ceremony 
with  me,  or  I  shall  feel  it  my  bounden  duty  to  dodge 
you,  my  friend." 

"  Be  quiet,  my  dear  Lyndhurst,  and  listen  to  me," 
answered  Warne,  gravely. 

"  Oh,  if  you  put  on  your  serious  cap,  I'm  all  atten- 
tion," returned  the  other,  at  the  same  time  lighting  a 


86          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

cigar.  "  Really  and  truly,  sir,  your  love-lorn  tale 
will  come  very  opportune  for  the  pages  of  my  book." 

"  Your  book  be " 

"  Stop !  No  bad  French,  if  you  please.  There  may  be 
spies  about.  Better  converse  in  our  mother  tongue." 

"  I  feel  laden  with  Billingsgate." 

"Don't  unship  here,  pray."  And  Lyndhurst  burst 
out  into  one  of  those  hearty,  rib-testing  guffaws  so 
peculiar  to  Englishmen  all  the  world  over;  which 
made  the  Venetians  around  shrug  their  shoulders  up 
to  the  tips  of  their  ears  in  amazement. 

"  I  suppose  the  fit  will  pass  if  I  am  patient,"  said 
Warne,  resignedly.  "Lend  me  your  cigar-case.  I 
find  smoking  good  for  many  ills,  even  for  the  draw- 
back of  unrequited  friendship." 

"  Stuff !  Don't  put  yourself  into  a  poetical — I  mean 
a  feverish  mood.  I'll  be  as  silent  as  the  Sphinx,  if  you 
wish  it,  and  as  serious." 

"Has  it  ever  struck  you  why  I  persuaded  you  to 
join  me  in  this  trip,  Lyndhurst?"  inquired  the  other, 
after  a  pause. 

"No.  Except,  perhaps,  that  I  had  an  idea  you  were 
not  the  darling  exquisite  men  seem  to  think  you.  It 
has  struck  me  more  than  once  that  self  has  had  very 
little  to  do  with  your  holiday." 

"  Subtle  flatterer !  Do  you  mean  to  imply  that  we 
are  doing  a  tour  over  Europe  solely  on  your  account  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly.  Ralph  Warne  wanted  his  friend  to 
see  some  of  the  wonders  of  the  world,  and  Mr.  Warne 
wanted  a  wife." 

"  Don't  be  absurd,"  rejoined  the  banker.  "  Putting 
aside  my  desire  for  your  companionship,  I  had  a  two- 
fold object  in  view  when  I  started  on  this  journey.  My 
father,  desirous  to  extend  his  business,  gave  me  a  com- 


VELIS  ET  REMIS.  87 

mission  to  negotiate  with  two  houses — one  in  London, 
the  other  here  in  Venice.  For  that  object  he  very 
liberally  placed  the  swift  steamer  '  Waiturea '  at  my 
disposal,  so  that  I  might  travel  as  I  pleased,  and  at 
the  same  time  fulfil  his  instructions  as  speedily  as  pos- 
sible. Two  months  after  leaving  New  Zealand  found 
us  in  the  World's  Metropolis.  A  few  weeks  more,  and 
we  had  seen  Paris,  Milan,  Naples,  Rome,  and  Genoa." 

"Yes,  and  here  we  are  in  the  land  of  mask  and 
stiletto.  Egad !  One  can  easily  imagine  the  terrible 
secret  Council  of  Three,  and  the  Inquisition,  with 
its  instruments  of  torture.  I  read  of  these  things 
when  I  was  a  boy,  and  I  also  pictured  the  old  city 
as  something  quite  different  from  what  I  see  it 
now." 

"  I  think  Venice  is  a  lovely  place,  Lyndhurst." 

"  Of  course,  Tophet  would  be  Eden  to  you  if  it  hap- 
pened to  contain  a  certain  enchanting  lady." 

"  You  mean  the  daughter  of  our  friend,  the  banker 
of  Venice,  Prince  Roumaine?" 

"  I  do.  A  more  beautiful  lady  is  not  to  be  found  in 
Europe." 

"  Traitor ! "  responded  Warne,  in  the  same  tone  of 
banter.  "  What  would  the  peerless  Victorine  say  if 
she  heard  you  ?  " 

The  smile  left  Alton  Lyndhurst's  face  in  an  instant. 
"  Mrs.  Gayland  is  no  more  to  me  than  yonder  crone 
begging  for  alms,"  he  said  coldly.  Then,  changing  his 
manner  to  earnest  inquiry,  added :  "A  truce  to  this 
sorry  duello  of  words,  my  dear  Warne.  You  were 
about  to  say  something  with  respect  to  a  second  pro- 
ject. What  is  it?" 

Ralph  Warne  looked  keenly  at  his  friend  for  a 
second  or  so  before  he  replied.  "  My  object  number 


88          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

two  lies  nearer  home,  Lyndhurst.  You  remember 
Fernbrook  of  the  Rock  ?  " 

"Very  well,  indeed.  A  strange  fellow,"  answered 
the  other. 

"  Would  it  surprise  you  to  hear  that  my  business 
concerns  our  friend  of  the  Barrier  ?  " 

"  In  what  way  ?    Did  he  give  you  a  commission  ?  " 

"No.  A  man  so  recently  returned  from  a  five 
years'  tour  round  the  world  would  scarcely  need  a 
service  in  that  direction,"  replied  Warne.  "  Did  I  ever 
tell  you  that  this  same  Hilton  Fernbrook  and  myself 
were  schoolfellows  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  remember  your  saying  so." 

"  We  were,  though.  And  I  may  say  more  than  that 
— we  were  brothers  in  everything  save  name  and 
blood.  For  thirty  years  the  Warnes  and  Fernbrooks 
were  most  intimate  friends.  Twelve  months  before 
Hilton  left  New  Zealand  for  his  trip  to  Europe  he  was 
betrothed  to  my  cousin,  Lady  Blanche  Trevor.  I  need 
not  tell  you  that  it  was  purely  a  love  match  between 
them.  For  two  years  after  Fernbrook's  departure  we 
had  letters  from  him  pretty  regularly.  To  my  fair 
kinswoman  he  wrote  in  the  most  endearing  terms. 
Every  vessel  brought  news  of  him  and  his  doings.  To- 
day he  was  in  London,  visiting  all  that  was  to  be  seen ; 
anon,  he  was  amongst  the  mountains  of  Switzerland; 
and  again,  doing  a  pilgrimage  up  old  Father  Nile. 
Suddenly  his  letters  ceased  altogether,  and  for  the  space 
of  a  year  we  heard  nothing  of  him.  At  the  end  of  that 
time,  my  father,  who  was  Fernbrook's  banker,  received 
a  letter  from  him  to  the  effect  that  an  accident  of  a 
serious  nature  had  befallen  his  client  whilst  crossing 
a  cataract  on  the  Nile.  Hilton  Fernbrook  and  his 
guides  had  been  captured  by  a  party  of  Bedouins  and 


VELIS  ET  REMIS.  89 

were  held  captive,  their  ransom  being  set  down  at  ten 
thousand  pounds.  A  short  postscript  requested  that 
the  money  should  be  forwarded,  and  that  without  delay, 
to  a  town  called  Berber." 

"  A  rather  heavy  ransom." 

"Truly  so;  however,  my  poor  Governor  thought 
nothing  of  that.  The  money  was  despatched  to  a 
wealthy  broker  here  in  Venice,  who  had  business  with 
a  house  connected  with  the  Nile,  and  so  forwarded  to 
its  destination.  Of  course  we  waited  very  patiently 
after  this  for  some  particulars  of  the  mishap  and  its 
consequences,  but  we  were  disappointed.  Beyond  a 
short  missive  to  my  father,  acknowledging  receipt  of 
the  sum  for  ransom,  not  a  line  reached  us  from  the 
wanderer.  At  regular  intervals,  however,  he  wrote  to 
the  bank,  asking  that  money  might  be  forwarded  to 
various  places  which  he  named.  The  sums  demanded 
were  always  considerable.  My  father,  though  hurt 
and  offended  at  what  he  considered  a  want  of  courtesy 
on  the  part  of  his  young  friend,  responded  to  every 
demand ;  but  as  time  went  on,  and  Fernbrook's  account 
began  to  dwindle  down  towards  zero,  the  Governor  re- 
monstrated :  finding  that  had  little  or  no  effect  upon 
the  wanton  extravagance  of  the  spendthrift,  he  refused 
point-blank  to  advance  another  shilling.  In  the  space 
of  two  years,  the  heir  of  Fernbrook  had  drawn  no  less 
a  sum  than  twenty-five  thousand  pounds  from  the 
bank's  coffers. 

"The  supplies  cut  off,  our  prodigal  returns  home 
again.  He  is  changed  certainly,  but  it  is  a  change  that 
is  to  be  expected  in  one  who  has  seen  so  much— and,  I 
may  add,  spent  so  much  money.  Everything  is  ex- 
plained, however ;  friends  forgive,  and  are  reconciled, 
with  two  exceptions.  My  Lady  Blanche,  who  cried 


90          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

for  a  month  at  the  departure  of  her  sweetheart,  hates 
him  with  an  unaccountable  loathing  on  his  return." 

"  That  is  woman-like  all  the  world  over,"  quietly 
chimes  in  Lyndhurst,  philosophically  puffing  out  a 
thin  blue  puff  of  smoke  from  beneath  his  thick  mous- 
tache. 

"  Pardon  me,  Lyndhurst,  my  cousin  is  not  a  bit  like 
other  women,"  responds  the  other.  "There  is  some- 
thing beyond  the  mere  outward  form  of  this  man  that 
fills  her  with  fear.  It  is  the  same  form,  the  same 
face,  the  same  everything  about  him,  save  that  name- 
less something  which  has  gone  out  of  him — manly 
dignity,  truth,  virtue,  call  it  by  what  name  you  will." 

The  novelist  takes  the  cigar  from  between  his  teeth, 
and  looks  at  his  friend  with  some  astonishment,  not 
unmixed  with  admiration. 

"  And  the  Lady  Blanche  will  have  none  of  him  ?  "  he 
says  very  shortly. 

"  I  have  heard  her  swear  she  will  not  fulfil  her 
promise,"  continued  Warne,  gravely.  "  My  uncle  Bob 
is  a  gentleman  of  the  old  school,  and  would  sooner 
lose  everything  he  had  in  this  world  than  depart  one 
jot  from  his  word.  To  be  brief,  a  circumstance  hap- 
pened which  gave  to  Blanche  a  way  out  of  the  dif- 
ficulty. One  night,  old  Rita,  the  Maori — who,  by  the 
way,  is  as  quiet  as  a  cat,  yet  as  cunning  as  a  fox — en- 
tered by  stealth  one  of  the  rooms  occupied  by  Colonel 
de  Roal,  Fernbrook's  friend.  From  an  old  trunk  which 
belonged  to  him,  and  which  she  managed  to  open, 
the  Maori  pilfered  sundry  papers,  together  with 
one  or  two  letters,  and  three  photographs.  These 
she  straightway  took  to  Major  Trevor,  but  the  gallant 
Major  being  absent,  they  were  placed  in  the  hands  of 
his  daughter,  and " 


VELIS  ET  REMIS.  91 

"  Why  do  you  pause,  old  fellow  ?  " 

"Dear  Lyndhurst,  it  comes  hard  to  think  one's 
dearest  friend  a  villain,  but,  if  these  papers  verify 
aught,  they  prove  unmistakably  that  Hilton  Fern- 
brook  is  no  fit  mate  for  my  beautiful,  high-spirited 
cousin.  According  to  these  records,  the  last  three 
years  of  this  man's  life  stands  out  in  all  their  wicked- 
ness— ay,  wanton  wickedness,  for,  in  spite  of  his 
vast  resources,  he  has  been  both  dishonorable  and 
criminal." 

"Criminal,  Warne?" 

"  I  repeat  it.  An  associate  of  swindlers.  A  profli- 
gate, nay,  an  escaped  convict,"  cried  the  young  banker, 
with  a  burst  of  irrepressible  passion. 

"  Dear  boy,  there  is  some  huge  blunder  in  all  this 
business,"  replied  Lyndhurst.  "  It  seems  to  me  im- 
possible that  a  man  of  education,  and  with  means  to 
gratify  every  whim,  should  fall  to  that  extent." 

"  But  it  is  so,  nevertheless,"  answered  Warne.  "  Six 
months  ago,  when  I  promised  to  undertake  this  matter, 
and  attempt  to  sift  it  to  the  bottom,  I  had  my  doubts, 
as  you  have.  Time  has  given  me  proof — absolute 
proof,  I  tell  you.  Hilton  Fernbrook  is  an  escaped 
felon — a  murderer ! " 

«  Horrible ! " 

"Acting  on  the  instructions  given  me  by  Uncle 
Trevor,  I  no  sooner  reached  London  than  I  engaged 
the  services  of  Dusk,  one  of  the  ablest  detectives  of 
Scotland  Yard.  This  officer,  who  can  speak  several 
languages  fluently,  and  who,  besides,  has  a  knowledge 
of  every  swindler  of  note  on  the  Continent,  has  tracked 
Hilton  Fernbrook  through  many  queer  labyrinths  that 
cover  part  of  those  three  later  years  of  his  travels. 
Beneath  the  assumed  name  of  Victor  Mauprat,  he  has 


92          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

been  guilty  of  crimes  that  should  for  ever  debar  him 
from  the  society  of  honorable  men." 

"  Has  the  detective  furnished  you  with  written  proofs 
of  all  this?" 

"  Conclusive  proofs,  Lyndhurst.  Dusk  is  now  here 
in  Venice — arrived  this  morning.  He  sent  me  a  note, 
asking  for  an  interview.  If  you  wish  you  shall  be 
admitted  to  our  council." 

"  Thank  you,  I  accept.  But,  my  dear  Warne,  why 
have  you  kept  all  these  things  from  me  ?  " 

"  Pooh !  I  wanted  you  to  enjoy  your  holiday,"  re- 
sponded the  other,  lightly.  "  Look,  yonder  come  our 
friends,  the  Prince  di  Roumaine  and  his  party." 

And,  as  the  young  man  spoke,  there  shot  through 
the  sparkling  waves  a  state  gondola,  handsomely  dec- 
orated. Under  its  satin  canopy — ample  as  the  folds 
of  a  gigantic  balloon — sat  a  gay  party  of  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  while  around  them  swallow-tailed  lackeys 
bowed  and  capered  in  attendance. 


CUPID.  93 


CHAPTER  IX. 

CUPID. 

No  man  was  more  popular  in  all  Venice  than  the 
banker  of  the  Rialto,  Prince  Elric  di  Roumaine.  As 
his  name  implied,  he  was  the  worthy  descendant  of  a 
noble  family  which  took  root  in  the  stirring  time  of 
the  Middle  Ages.  By  close  attention  to  business  the 
Prince  had  amassed  great  wealth,  which  some  day 
would  be  left  to  his  only  child,  a  blushing,  beautiful 
maiden  of  eighteen. 

Ah,  me !  How  shall  I  describe  thee,  my  dear  Vio- 
lante  ?  How  paint  thy  many  and  varying  charms  in 
words  ?  It  is  expected  of  me  that  I  should  try,  so  the 
picture  shall  be  brief. 

An  oval  face,  radiant  with  innocence,  and  as  pure 
as  that  which  Canova  saw  when  he  dreamed  of  Eden. 
Hair,  deep  golden,  with  a  shade  of  lighter  hue  streak- 
ing its  luxurious  braids ;  complexion,  a  clear  ivory 
white,  and  eyes  that  were  neither  blue  nor  black,  but 
had  a  look  of  both  at  times  in  their  lustrous  depths. 
A  noble,  beautiful  woman — for  Violante  di  Roumaine 
was  already  a  woman  both  in  mind  and  person  at 
eighteen. 

When  you  held  converse  with  her  you  did  not  pause 
to  notice  whether  she  was  dark  or  fair.  The  beauty 
and  purity  of  the  face  held  you  in  thrall,  and  you  for- 
got such  small  things  as  ladies  love  to  criticise  in  each 
other.  The  banker's  lovely  heiress  was  gifted  in  mind 


94          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

as  well  as  in  person.  Her  friends  said  that  she  was 
cleverer  than  most  girls  of  her  age.  What  many  found 
difficult  she  could  master  directly.  She  could  play  all 
the  hardest  things  of  Mendelssohn,  sing  as  sweetly 
and  correctly  as  Grisi.  Many  a  dark  Venetian  youth 
sighed  and  pined  for  love  of  her,  but  they  sighed  and 
pined  in  vain. 

Weird,  yet  beautiful,  was  this  moving  panorama  of 
light  and  life  and  motion  on  the  Grand  Canal.  At 
Prince  Roumaine's  request  our  two  friends  left  their 
gondola  and  entered  that  which  contained  the  banker 
and  his  friends.  The  barge  had  been  fitted  up  espe- 
cially for  the  fete.  Beneath  its  canopy  were  perfumed 
lamps,  soft  couches  and  piano.  What  strange,  motley 
shadows  those  were  which  flitted  to  and  fro  over  the 
wrinkled  waters ;  stalwart  Turks,  turbaned  in  every 
hue  of  the  rainbow ;  stately  Moors,  proud  and  silent ; 
Jews,  Arabs,  and  Gentiles  from  every  city  in  Europe. 
Save  Fidele,  Violante's  maid,  the  Princess  was  the 
only  lady  present.  She  welcomed  the  New  Zealanders 
with  that  delicate,  subtle  courtesy  for  which  the  Vene- 
tians of  the  upper  ten  are  famous.  At  a  sign,  Ralph 
Warne  seated  himself  on  a  low  ottoman  by  her  side, 
while  his  friend,  the  novelist,  went  forward  to  gossip 
with  the  Prince  and  those  about  him.  In  no  country 
on  this  vast  globe  does  the  love-god  strike  so  swiftly 
and  so  keenly  as  in  this  land  of  the  south.  The  hither- 
to cool,  self-possessed,  sarcastic,  drawling  masher  of 
his  class — the  impregnable  Warne— actually  felt  him- 
self tremble  in  the  presence  of  the  banker's  daughter. 
Beneath  the  battery  of  those  lustrous  eyes,  wherein 
he  saw  himself  photographed  in  miniature,  how  his 
heart  began  to  beat  and  throb  with  a  sensation  he  had 
never  felt  before  in  his  whole  life !  It  was  well  they 


CUPID.  95 

were  alone,  except  for  the  maid,  who  gave  him  the 
benefit  of  a  rude  stare,  ere  she  retired  to  perform  some 
message  for  my  lady.  It  was  well  the  cruel,  merci- 
less, satirical  novelist  could  not  see  his  tremor,  his 
nervousness.  Ralph  felt  thankful  that  it  was  so. 

And  this  poor  exquisite — this  curly-pated  son  of  the 
sturdy  Auckland  merchant — why  did  he  tremble  at 
sight  of  a  woman  ?  Through  those  gold- rimmed  glasses 
perched  upon  his  nose,  he  had  coolly  surveyed  hundreds 
as  charming  and  as  beautiful  as  this  one,  but  he  had 
felt  no  pang.  Only  twice  before  had  he  beheld  the 
witching  Violante,  and  each  time  Cupid  had  driven  his 
dart  up  to  the  very  feather  in  the  tender  soul  of  the 
scoffer.  The  unfortunate  fellow  was  in  love — in  love 
up  to  his  spectacles — but  he  was  quite  unconscious 
of  it. 

Oh,  youth !  Oh,  love !  Who  shall  say  the  world  is 
full  of  pain  and  groans  of  agony,  when  thou  art  near  ? 
Oh,  potent  magician !  what  tears  can  quench  thy  burn- 
ing light!  Aglow  art  thou  in  every  human  heart. 
Passion  and  sorrow  may  dim  thy  heavenly  fire  be- 
times, but  charity,  with  her  golden  wings,  wafts  thee 
again  into  life,  and  light,  and  glory. 

And  this  pair  talk.  The  little  siren  can  speak  Eng- 
lish passing  well;  indeed,  well  enough  to  be  under- 
stood by  her  companion.  The  rest  of  the  party  heed 
them  no  more  than  if  they  were  both  figures  of  carved 
wood  adorning  the  gondola.  They  talk  of  tastes,  likes 
and  dislikes,  of  eyes,  hair,  and  what  not.  The  New 
Zealander  grows  bold — nay,  eloquent — upon  the  eyes 
and  hair  he  admires  in  ladies.  He  draws  a  word- 
painted  picture  that  has  in  it  a  startling  resemblance  to 
the  Princess  herself,  but  that  lady,  in  her  innocence, 
does  not  see  it. 


96          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

By  and  by  the  conversation  flags,  dies  out,  and  there 
is  silence.  Ralph  Warne,  for  want  of  something  to 
do,  pulls  forth  his  cigar  case,  and  begins  to  toy  with 
it. 

"  I  see  you  want  to  smoke,"  says  Violante,  presently, 
watching  him  the  while.  "  Pray  do  not  stir.  My 
padre  often  enjoys  a  cigar  while  chatting  to  me.  You 
may  smoke." 

Warne  lights  his  cigar  with  a  look  at  her,  wherein 
there  is  expressed  deep  thankfulness.  From  the  stool 
he  glides  to  his  full  length  on  the  soft  carpet,  making 
a  cushion  of  that  he  had  sat  upon.  She  gazes  down  at 
him,  dreamily  watching  the  thin  wreath  of  fragrant 
smoke  rising  from  his  cigar,  and  wondering  why  he 
should  have  been  so  kind  and  good-natured  as  to  spend 
the  night  with  her  father  on  the  Canal,  when  he  could 
have  enjoyed  himself  so  much  more  at  Madame  Sar- 
doni's,  or  the  Bal  Masque,  or  the  Square  of  St.  Mark ; 
wondering,  too,  whether  in  that  country  at  the  Antip- 
odes, of  which  she  was  so  ignorant,  there  were  many 
men  so  handsome,  with  such  bright  manly  eyes  and 
beautiful  fair  hair.  Then  she  remembered  that  he  was 
an  Englishman,  and  she  supposed  that  accounted  for 
the  strange,  subtle  charm  that  surrounded  him.  In 
short,  she  sat  and  speculated  and  pondered  about  this 
young  friend  of  her  father's  in  a  manner  that  was 
extremely  dangerous  to  the  peace  of  her  innocent 
heart. 

"  So  you  have  passed  the  whole  of  your  life  in  this 
old  sea-girt  city?"  he  says,  lifting  his  eyes  to  her 
face,  and  at  the  same  time  giving  utterance  to  his 
musings. 

"  This  is  my  home,"  she  answered  simply.  "  Yon- 
der, where  you  see  the  circle  of  light  playing  round  the 


CUPID.  97 

high  tower,  was  born  my  great  great  grand-sire,  Simon 
Vallette,  the  banker,  who  retrieved  the  fortunes  of  our 
house  three  hundred  years  ago.  My  father  first  saw 
the  light  from  its  windows,  whilst  I  was  nursed  and 
cradled  midst  its  gloomy  corridors." 

"  And  your  mother,  she " 

"Alas!  I  have  no  mother,"  returned  the  young 
Venetian,  quickly.  "  My  sweet  madre  yielded  up  her 
life  for  my  sake.  Carissima  !  It  is  a  fearful  thing  to 
forget  the  sainted  word  '  Mother,'  yet  I  have  almost 
forgotten  how  to  use  it.  You  have  a  mother  ?  " 

"  I  have,  God  bless  her,"  cried  the  youth,  fervently ; 
"  a  dear  gentle  mother  who  would  give  up  her  life  for 
my  sake  also  if  needs  be." 

"  Ah,  carissima  madre.     How  beautiful  that  is." 

He  nods  his  head  in  sympathy,  and  puffs  with  re- 
newed energy  at  his  cheroot.  He  feels  he  can  go  no 
farther  in  that  direction,  without  being  tempted  to  ask 
her  to  allow  his  dear  madre  to  fill  the  place  of  the  one 
she  had  lost.  Of  course  the  very  unreasonableness  of 
the  proposition  never  crosses  his  thoughts  for  an 
instant.  He  is  full  of  yearning  compassion,  of  that 
strange  force  we  call  affinity.  This  lovely  brunette, 
with  her  lustrous  eyes  and  her  wealth  of  golden  hair, 
is  his  loadstone,  the  one  attractive  power  in  the  wide 
world  to  move  him  to  good  or  evil.  No  power  of  mes- 
merism so  potent  as  this.  No  known  force,  visible  or 
invisible,  so  strong  and  irresistible  as  this  first  uncon- 
scious dawning  of  Love's  young  dream. 

Try  as  they  will,  they  cannot  keep  the  conversation 
flowing.  It  is  an  effort  to  talk.  Musing  is  much  easier, 
much  pleasanter,  to  both  of  them ;  so  they  are  silent. 
The  ring  around  the  banker  Prince,  at  the  other  end  of 
the  gondola,  are  merry  enough  in  all  conscience.  Con- 
7 


98          THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

versation  does  not  flag  with  them.  The  Prince  is  re- 
lating some  anecdote  concerning  a  distant  relative  of 
his,  one  Gaston  de  Roal.  The  name  strikes  familiarly 
on  the  ears  of  Warne,  who  rouses  himself  from  his 
dreamy  reverie  to  listen.  "  Yes,  a  second  cousin,  I 
believe,  or  something  of  that  sort,"  says  the  banker,  in 
answer  to  a  question.  "De  Roal  and  myself  were 
friends  twenty-five  years  ago,  and  I  remember  him  as 
a  tall,  handsome  fellow.  He  got  into  a  scrape  in  con- 
nection with  some  lady  of  rank  in  Genoa,  fled  to  Paris, 
and  eventually  entered  the  army,  served  under  Napo- 
leon in  Italy,  and  then  went  to  Algeria,  and  thence  to 
Egypt." 

"  I  met  a  Colonel  de  Roal  at  the  house  of  a  friend  in 
New  Zealand,"  remarked  Alton  Lyndhurst. 

"  It's  the  same  man,  in  all  probability,"  responds  the 
Prince ;  "De  Roal  earned  his  colonelcy  by  a  dare-devil 
act,  while  with  Vipont's  Brigade.  There  is  a  story 
current  that  he  fell  in  love  with  and  married  Cleo 
Berenice,  the  most  beautiful  Egyptian  lady  of  her  time, 
and  a  lineal  descendant  of  the  voluptuous  Cleopatra. 
Before  the  lady  consented  to  become  his  wife,  the 
Colonel  had  to  relinquish  the  faith  of  his  fathers  for 
that  of  the  dark  traditions  of  the  mighty  Pharaohs 
and  the  priests  of  Isis.  So  the  story  goes,"  continued 
the  speaker.  "  De  Roal  was  just  the  wild  mad-brained 
fellow  to  be  taken  by  anything  weird  and  mystical, 
and  where  in  all  the  annals  of  religious  history  can  one 
find  anything  so  strange  as  the  passage  of  the  im- 
mortal soul  from  one  body  into  another  ?  Yet  this  is  the 
faith  of  the  Egyptians.  The  philosophy  of  old  Pytha- 
goras called  it  'Transmigration.'  For  ten  years  De 
Roal  was  not  heard  of  by  his  friends.  Amongst  the 
.anoienjb  ruins  of  the  classic  Nile,  he  wandered  with  bis 


CUPID.  99 

wife,  and  became  initiated  into  the  secrets  of  that  dim 
lore  that  hath  the  Principle  of  Evil  for  its  master.  One 
day  the  Colonel  returned  to  Venice,  browned  and 
tanned  by  the  sun  of  Egypt ;  no  one  recognized  him. 
He  retired  to  the  village  of  Monte,  by  the  sea-wall, 
and  began  to  practise  what  the  venerable  Padre  An- 
selmo  termed  the  « black  art  of  Beelzebub.'  " 

"  Which  means,  that  our  friend  the  Colonel  tried  to 
raise  the  devil,"  cried  a  stout  merchant  of  the  Rialto. 

"  By  no  means,  my  dear  Boscari,"  responded  Prince 
di  Roumaine,  laughing.  "  Colonel  de  Roal  was  a  ma- 
gician of  another  kind.  Among  the  grand  temples,  and 
the  colossal  weather-worn  statues  of  Egypt's  gods,  this 
man  had  found  a  secret  that  baffled  doctors  and  priest- 
craft alike." 

«  What  secret,  Prince  ?  " 

"  The  great  secret  of  healing,"  returned  the  banker, 
gravely.  "  Men  who  had  thought  themselves  confirmed 
invalids  were  cured  by  him,  by  a  simple  wave  of  the 
hand.  Others,  again,  whom  the  most  skilful  physicians 
had  given  up  as  past  help,  were  restored  to  perfect 
health  without  nostrum  or  pill." 

"  Corpo  di  Baccho  f  It  is  marvellous,"  cried  another 
of  the  party. 

"  My  good  Antonio,  there  are  some  things  that  make 
a  man  famous  whether  he  will  or  no.  De  Roal  became, 
for  a  time,  the  most  noted  person  in  Venice.  The 
poor,  who  found  relief  at  his  hands,  dubbed  him  a 
saint.  The  clergy  impeached  him  as  a  devil.  Abbe 
Belleville  laid  an  information  against  him  to  the  Sen- 
ate, and  De  Roal  was  summoned  to  the  Hall  of  St. 
Mark.  Hector  Bravoli,  the  Captain  of  the  Guard, 
went  in  person  to  arrest  the  offender.  When  the 
officer  communicated  his  errand,  the  Colonel  rose  to  his 


100        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

feet  and  confronted  him.  '  Mio  Capitano,  you  are  a 
brave  fellow  to  come  here  alone,  to  arrest  one  in  league 
with  Satan,"  he  said,  smiling.  "  Hark  !  I  have  only 
to  lift  my  voice,  and  yonder  crowd  without  would  rend 
you  to  pieces.  However,  I  will  not  do  so.  See  !  Look 
at  me,  Captain  Hector  Bravoli — straight  at  me — so  ! 
Now,  sir,  we  shall  understand  each  other  better.' " 

"  Was  the  understanding  mutual,  Prince  ?  " 

"  Truly  so,  my  friend,"  continued  the  banker.  "  Cer- 
tain it  is  that  Captain  Bravoli  had  no  sooner  fixed  his 
gaze  on  the  eyes  of  his  companion  than  he  felt  quite 
powerless  to  withdraw  it.  Something  there  was  in  the 
look  of  De  Roal  which  held  the  Captain  altogether  in 
bondage.  Bravoli,  it  may  be  remarked,  was  one  of  the 
most  fearless,  as  well  as  one  of  the  most  matter-of-fact 
men  of  the  time ;  therefore,  it  appeared  all  the  more 
remarkable  when  he  was  discovered  afterwards  fast 
asleep  in  the  Colonel's  arm-chair,  and  De  Roal  gone — 
vanished  through  the  keyhole,  or  up  the  chimney." 

"  And  they  never  caught  him  ?  " 

"  No  !  The  Colonel's  enemies  cared  not  a  straw 
whither  he  went,  so  that  he  was  gone  from  Venice," 
answered  Prince  di  Roumaine.  "  I  believe  he  re- 
turned to  Egypt.  So  much  for  my  erratic  schoolfellow. 
But  see  !  Here  comes  the  procession  of  the  Floating 
Palace." 

A  cortege  of  stately  gondolas,  with  lights  and  banners 
and  music,  escorting  a  huge  pile  of  lath,  silk,  and  paper 
flowers.  From  every  tiny  peak  and  gable  of  the  frail 
structure  gleamed  colored  lights  of  every  hue,  while 
around  and  about  there  rose  the  jangle  of  a  hundred 
guitars,  and  a  perfect  babel  of  tongues. 

Long  after  it  had  passed  by,  and  when  the  noise  and 
tumult  came  to  them  but  in  faint  murmurs,  the  Princess 


CUPID.  101 

and  her  companion  still  mused :  she,  of  that  new  and 
pleasant  love-light  dawning  upon  her  pure  soul  for  the 
first  time ;  he,  of  what  he  had  just  heard  concerning 
Gaston  de  Roal.  All  things  have  an  ending.  So 
with  the  waking  fancies  of  Violante  and  her  com- 
panion. 

"  Are  you  fond  of  music  ? "  she  asks,  and  before  he 
can  reply,  she  rises  and  moves  to  the  piano.  The  groups 
around  the  Prince  split  up,  and  form  again  about  his 
daughter.  Violante  looks  round  with  a  smile,  and 
strikes  a  sweet  low  prelude : — 

SONG. 

Oh,  wooing  wind ! 
That  steals,  a  subtle  whisper,  through  the  woods. 

The  shy  arbutus  hears, 

Lifting  her  pinky  ears 

And  blushing,  on  her  crumpled  bed  reclined, 
When  she  thy  meaning  bold  hath  understood. 

Oh,  wooing  wind ! 

Oh,  wanton  wind  ! 
That  tellest  love-tales  to  the  trembling  trees, 

And  in  the  rose's  breast 

Drinkest  thyself  to  rest, 
And  all  the  lily's  sweetness  hath  divined 
When  June's  warm  lips  are  murmuring  to  her  bees. 

Oh,  wanton  wind ! 

Oh,  cruel  wind  ! 
Piercing  the  forest  with  thy  bloody  spears  I 

Death  to  each  rose  that  grieves  ; 

Death  to  the  outcast  leaves  ; 
Fleeing  for  refuge,  that  they  may  not  find 
Thy  mocking  laughter,  shrilling  o'er  their  fears — 

Oh,  cruel  wind  1 


102        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

Oh,  moaning  wind ! 

Now  are  the  gardens  stript,  the  boughs  are  bare, 

For  thee  no  weak  buds  blow  ; 

Only  this  ghastly  snow 
Over  thy  victims  draws  a  covering  kind. 
Well  mayst  thou  sob  and  wail  in  vain  despair, 
Oh,  moaning  wind ! 

"  Bravo !  bravo !  Sad,  but  beautiful,"  cried  Alton 
Lyndhurst.  And  the  rest  applaud  too,  and  beg  her  to 
sing  again.  She  complies.  The  girl  has  a  voice  match- 
less for  purity  of  tone  and  sweetness.  When  she  has 
finished  the  second  song,  the  novelist,  at  the  request  of 
his  friend,  sits  down  to  the  instrument,  and  after  a 
moment's  meditation,  sings:— 

HEREAFTER. 

When  all  life's  storms  are  still, 
And  all  the  noises  into  calm  have  passed  ; 
When  rest  and  quiet  come  to  us  at  last, 
What  matters  good  or  ill  ? 

What  matters  love  or  hate  ? 
Calm  hands  are  folded  o'er  a  quiet  heart, 
The  wearied  head  is  pillowed  in  sweet  rest, 
And  sorrow  comes  too  late. 

What  matters  wealth  or  fame  ? 
The  narrow  grave  is  all  the  earth  can  give, 
The  deathless  soul  in  other  worlds  shall  live, 
And  men  forget  our  name. 

What  matters  aught  of  Earth  ? 
The  passing  pictures  of  a  shadowed  dream, 
The  changing  eddies  of  a  turbid  stream  ; 
Sure  these  are  nothing  worth. 


CUPID.  103 

Why  then  despond,  my  friend  ? 
For  thee,  at  least,  has  come  at  last 
Sweet  peace  and  calm,  when  toil  is  past, 
And  Death  is  not  the  End  ! 

No  applause  follows  Lyndhurst's  song.  Something 
in  the  voice  of  the  singer — more,  in  the  words  he  has 
chosen— forbids  it.  Yet  the  voice  is  a  grand,  manly 
voice,  and  one  well  fitted  to  the  grave,  quaint  melody 
of  the  poem.  Without  a  word,  Warne  crosses  to  his 
friend,  and  takes  his  hand. 

"Dear  old  boy,  I  understand  you  better  now,"  he 
whispers  in  English. 

The  whisper  and  the  reply,  which  is  half  a  laugh 
and  half  a  sob,  are  unheeded.  Boscari  is  at  the  instru- 
ment. Hark !  The  theme  is  still — Love. 

"ALTER  EGO" 

When  the  Eastern  gates  are  swinging 

Wide,  to  welcome  in  the  morn  ; 
All  the  happy  birds  seem  singing 

Of  the  glad  hope  newly  born 
In  my  heart.     In  sudden  rapture, 
I  a  fluttering  breeze  would  capture, 

And  would  pray  it 

Float  above  you, 

There  to  whisper 

How  I  love  you  ! 

As  the  day's  red  ship  moves  over 
Stretches  wide  of  sapphire  sea, 
I  would  have  a  sunbeam  hover 

Round  your  path  to  tell  of  me ; 
I  would  have  it  lay  caresses. 
On  your  lips  and  in  your  tresses, 
Telling,  as  it 
Danced  above  you, 


104        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

That  I  love  you, 
Darling — love  you  I 

When  the  silver  stars  are  gleaming 

In  the  dusky  dome  of  night, 
To  your  pure  and  tranquil  dreaming 

I  would  send  a  vision  bright. 
You  would  see  me,  darling,  near  you 
Bending  low,  that  I  might  hear  you 

Whisper  to  the 

Lips  above  you, 

' '  Yes,  I  love  you, 

Dearest — love  you  !  " 

So  glides  the  night  away,  until  the  glorious  light  of 
day  illumines  the  swelling  bosom  of  the  Adriatic. 
Hark!  again: — 

Hail,  balmy  splendor  ! 

There  the  morning  breaks  away 
From  shades  as  tender, 

Shines  early  day ; 
The  golden  mists  are  rolling  up 

The  foam  on  morning's  amber  cup  ; 
Beneath  the  long  uprisen  line 

The  valleys  quaff  the  wine. 

Beautiful  the  gloaming 

Of  morn,  through  veiling  night, 
Scarcely,  though  seeming, 

Clear  to  the  sight. 
Yet  he  still  the  faintest  sign  descries, 

And  rings  a  paean  as  he  flies  ; 
The  surly  hours  of  night  are  gone. 

Arouse  !    Behold  the  dawn  ! 


LOVE'S  YOUNG  DREAM.  105 


CHAPTER  X. 

LOVE'S  YOUNG  DREAM. 

FAIR  the  morning,  and  gay  the  banker  and  his  party, 
as  they  drifted  with  wind  and  tide  towards  the  pict- 
uresque suburb  of  Tel  Delto.  At  Terra  Fontaine, 
famed  throughout  the  world  for  its  glass,  the  party  sep- 
arated. Prince  di  Roumaine  would  not  hear  of  Warne 
and  his  friend  leaving  him  yet  awhile,  but  pressed  them 
to  accompany  him  to  his  villa  at  Del  Grade,  and  spend 
a  few  days. 

The  invitation  was  accepted  with  evident  satisfaction 
by  one  of  the  twain,  and  none  the  less  so  by  the  host's 
fair  daughter,  who  clapped  her  hands  in  childish  glee. 
"  Ah  !  you  shall  see  the  "  Bravo's  Leap,"  and  the  ford 
where  Bianca  Paianzi  perished,  when  hunted  by  the 
troops  of  the  dreadful  Inquisition.  Mio  padre,  we  will 
go  home  round  by  the  stream ! " 

The  Prince  nods  approval.  "  Violante  is  full  of  old 
legends,"  he  adds,  by  way  of  explanation.  "  Bianca 
Paianzi  and  the  Bravo's  Leap  are  local  fables,  nothing 
more ;  yet  the  scene  of  their  exploits  may  interest  you." 

They  dismiss  the  carriage  that  has  been  sent  to 
Fontaine  to  meet  them,  and  breakfast  at  one  of  those 
old-fashioned  roomy  inns,  only  to  be  found  in  pictures, 
and  around  the  sea-girt  city  of  the  South.  It  is  a  de- 
lightful meal,  after  their  night's  vigil.  From  the 
diamond-paned  casement  can  be  seen  the  sea  for  thirty 
miles,  with  scarcely  a  ripple  on  its  glassy  surface.  It 


106        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

appears  a  vast  mirror,  framed  in  with  the  distant  hills 
of  Florence  and  Milan,  with  a  setting  of  extensive 
valleys  that  are  vineyards  and  orange  groves  combined. 

"  Gentlemen,  I  have  an  appointment  at  the  bank  this 
morning,"  says  Prince  Roumaine,  when  the  breakfast 
is  over.  "  I  am  sorry  business  necessitates  my  leaving 
you,  even  for  an  hour.  Pray  pardon  me.  My  daughter 
will  play  the  hostess  during  my  absence,  which  I  trust 
will  not  extend  beyond  the  hour  of  lunch." 

Alton  Lyndhurst  looks  across  the  table  at  the  smil- 
ing pair,  and  forms  a  sudden  resolve  not  to  make  three 
in  company.  "  Prince,  should  I  be  in  the  way  if  I  ac- 
companied you  to  the  bank  ?  "  he  asked  carelessly.  "  I 
have  seen  little  or  nothing  of  Venice  yet." 

"  My  dear  sir,  I  shall  be  delighted,"  replies  the  un- 
suspecting padre.  "  Come  along,  I  will  show  you  all 
that  is  really  worth  seeing  with  great  pleasure." 

They  go  out.  Warne  casts  a  look  at  his  friend  that 
has  in  it  a  mixture  of  delight  and  fear. 

In  five  minutes  the  banker  and  the  novelist  are  rat- 
tling along  towards  Venice  as  fast  as  a  pair  of  mules 
can  carry  them ;  while  Violante  and  the  young  New 
Zealander  pursue  their  way  on  foot  towards  Del  Grade. 
The  masher  feels  dreadfully  shy  and  palpitating.  He 
turns  over  in  his  brain  a  thousand  things  with  which 
to  start  a  conversation,  but  fails  utterly  to  produce  a 
word.  Presently  he  has  courage  to  hope  she  is  not 
tired. 

"  Tired  ?  "  she  says,  flashing  round  at  him  one  of  the 
glances  from  her  soft,  dark  eyes — that  twenty  times 
this  morning  have  made  his  heart  leap ;  "  why,  we  have 
not  walked  a  mile  yet.  I  often  go  down  to  the  promon- 
tory yonder  and  back  again  before  dinner." 

"  Alone  ?  "  he  asks. 


LOVE'S  YOUNG  DREAM.  107 

"  Yes,  of  course  alone.  Padre  would  not  walk  so  far 
to  save  his  life." 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  stammered ;  "  I  thought  perhaps — 
that  is — that  there  might  be  someone  else,  er " 

She  looks  at  him  with  grave  surprise.  "  Whom  else 
should  there  be?"  she  inquires. 

"  I  don't  know,"  is  the  ambiguous  reply,  but  he  feels 
an  inward  throb  of  satisfaction. 

"  My  father  and  I  are  quite  alone.  This  is  the  first 
time  that  I  have  had  a  companion,"  she  adds  inno- 
cently. 

He  gains  courage  fast  now,  and  draws  a  little  nearer. 
Don't  you  find  it  dull — walking  alone,  I  mean  ? "  he 
says. 

"  Oh,  no.  There  is  always  something  to  amuse  me, 
some  bird  to  listen  to ;  then,  besides,  the  trees  talk  to 
me." 

"  Trees  ?    I  didn't  know  they  talked." 

She  laughs.  "  Oh,  yes,  they  do.  Listen,"  and  she 
halts  and  puts  her  hand  on  his  arm,  which  sensation 
stops  him  as  dead  short  as  if  a  bullet  had  gone  clean 
through  his  anatomy. 

"  Don't  you  hear  them  ?  That  is  the  leaves  rustling 
against  each  other  in  the  breeze.  That  is  what  I  call 
talking.  If  you  and  I  were  poets,  we  should  understand 
them,  and  be  able  to  tell  the  world  what  they  said." 

Ralph  Warne  tilts  back  his  hat,  and  looks  at  her. 
He  would  give  something  to  be  a  poet — to  be  an  inter- 
preter of  the  trees  and  the  running  brooks,  and  trans- 
late their  language  for  her.  How  he  envies  his  friend 
(even  that  friend  whom  he  loves  and  honors  with  his 
soul)  for  being  a  poet.  "  I  am  but  a  poor,  ignorant 
fellow,"  he  responds  humbly ;  "  I  am  afraid  the  trees 
will  never  gossip  with  me." 


108        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

His  rueful  face  and  the  tone  of  his  voice  make  her 
laugh  again  ;  but  there  is  an  unmistakable  ring  of  sym- 
pathy in  it  which  robs  it  of  all  unpleasantness. 

"  Why  not?"  she  says.  "  Does  your  immortal  poet 
Shakespeare  teach  in  vain  ?  Does  he  not  say  that  these 
dead  stones  have  a  language  of  their  own  ?" 

"  I — I  think  he  does  ;  but  I  haven't  read  much,  you 
know,"  he  responds  in  his  depreciating  way.  "  I've 
seen  Hamlet,  and  Romeo  and  Juliet.  The  former  is 
certainly  beyond  me,  but  the  latter  is  beautiful.  Don't 
you  think  so  ?  " 

The  Princess  ponders  a  moment,  her  long  lashes  rest- 
ing on  her  cheek.  Romeo  and  Juliet  is  a  grand  poem. 
It  is  a  perfumed  flower,  with  stiletto  and  poison  hid 
amongst  its  leaves,"  she  says.  "But  of  your  great 
countryman:  I  can  hear  the  music  of  the  stream. 
This  is  the  ford.  We  shall  have  to  cross  here. 

Warne  had  been  too  much  occupied  with  his  com- 
panion to  notice  a  river  flowing  between  high  cliffs, 
with  stepping-stones  in  zigzag  lines  for  crossing. 

"  This  is  called  the  '  Bravo's  Leap,'  she  says.  "  Oh, 
dear  me ! " 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  he  asks. 

"Why,  the  tide  is  rising;  the  stepping  stones  are 
almost  covered." 

"He  looks  down  at  the  crossing  and  nods  assent. 
"  Not  half  the  stones  are  visible,"  he  says.  "  We  shall 
have  to  go  back." 

"Go  back?"  she  echoes,  at  the  same  time  consulting 
her  watch.  "  Nay,  it  will  take  a  couple  of  hours  to 
reach  the  inn,  and  one  more  to  get  a  conveyance.  By 
that  time,  caro  padre  will  be  distracted  at  my  absence. 
We  must  cross,"  she  says  decidedly. 

"  You  will  get  wet." 


LOVE'S  YOUNG  DREAM.  109 

"  I  can't  help  that,"  she  cries,  with  a  laugh,  and  trip- 
ping down  the  bank,  she  stands  gazing  with  a  perplexed 
look  at  the  flowing  tide  brawling  over  the  stones.  He 
flings  the  remnant  of  his  cigar  into  the  stream — walks 
in  after  it  a  little  way,  and  extends  to  her  both  his 
hands. 

Violante  shrinks  back.  "  You  are  standing  in  the 
water,"  she  exclaims. 

He  laughs  carelessly.  Of  course;  what  does  it 
matter  ?  It  won't  hurt  me,  but  you  must  not  get  wet. 
Put  both  your  hands  in  mine  and  come  slowly." 

She  hesitates  a  moment,  then  puts  her  small  hands 
into  his  strong  ones,  which  close  over  them  firmly,  and 
steps  on  the  first  stone.  "  Now  then,"  he  says,  bending 
halfway  towards  the  next  one,  "  be  careful  to  step 
firmly.  Don't  be  afraid." 

"  I  am  not  afraid,"  she  answers,  feeling  the  firm  grip 
of  his  hands,  which  seem  to  swallow  hers  and  yet  to 
hold  them  so  tenderly. 

"  Bravo !  that  was  capital,"  he  cried,  as  stone  num- 
ber two  is  reached. 

"  How  deep  the  water  is,"  she  says  ruefully,  looking 
down  at  his  legs,  against  which  the  tide  is  rushing. 
"  How  terribly  wet  you  are !  " 

"  Don't  think  of  that,"  he  responds  pleadingly.  "  I'm 
used  to  it.  Now  for  the  next  one."  She  manages  to 
reach  it,  but  no  sooner  has  she  done  so  than  she  utters 
a  faint  cry  of  dismay. 

"  What's  the  matter  ? "  he  asks,  holding  her  hands 
tightly,  and  pressing  nearer. 

"  Don't  you  see  ?  "  she  cries,  nodding  in  front  of  her. 
"  The  next  stone  is  under  water." 

"  By  Jove  !  so  it  is,"  he  drawls.  "  What's  to  be 
done?" 


110        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

"  I  don't  know ;  and  I  feel  as  if  I  were  going  to  fall," 
she  adds  laughingly,  but  with  a  little  dash  of  nervous 
color  in  her  face. 

"  Lean  your  arm  on  my  shoulder,"  he  says,  drawing 
closer  to  her.  "  Lean  hard ;  you  will  feel  steadier." 

"  Thank  you,  you  are  very  kind — and — the  water  is 
above  your  knees." 

"  Never  mind  me,"  he  repeats.  "  Now,  what  shall 
we  do,  advance  or  return  ?  " 

Even  as  he  makes  the  suggestion,  he  knows  there  is 
no  going  back,  as  she  could  not  possible  turn  round  on 
the  sloping  slippery  stone.'  If  she  were  his  sister,  he 
would  make  no  more  ado,  but  take  her  up  in  his  arms 
arid  carry  her  across.  He  could  do  it  as  easily  as  he 
could  carry  a  baby.  But  he  dare  not  think  of  it.  It 
would  be  sacrilege.  Yet  what  is  to  be  done  ?  Every 
moment  he  feels  the  arm  resting  upon  his  shoulder 
grow  unsteady. 

"  I  must  go  back,"  she  says,  trying  to  laugh,  but  look- 
ing at  him  with  dismay  in  her  beautiful  eyes ;  then  she 
glances  over  her  shoulder,  and  her  face  grows  more 
troubled.  "  No !  I  could  not.  I  must  try  to  wade — 
after  all,  it  doesn't  matter." 

"  What !  "  he  cries.  "  You  wade — impossible  ;  the 
water  is  awfully  deep  a  little  farther  on,  I  know.  Be- 
sides, you  don't  suppose  I  would  let  you." 

"  But  I  must,"  she  answers,  with  a  sort  of  sobbing 
sound,  meant  for  a  laugh.  "  The  tide  will  drown  us 
both." 

"  No,  it  won't,"  he  adds,  trying  to  speak  carelessly ; 
"  I — I  shall  have  to  carry  you."  He  makes  the  bold 
proposition,  avoiding  her  eyes  and  looking  straight  be- 
yond her,  and  so  does  not  see  the  wide-open  surprise 
in  hers,  and  the  swift  sudden  flush  of  color. 


"  '  Now  then,'  he  says,   '  be  careful  to  step  firmly.     Don't  be 
afraid.' " 

— Page  log. 


LOVE'S  YOUNG  DREAM.  Ill 

"  Oh,  no !  "  she  says  softly.    "  I'll  go  back,  please." 

"  Look  here,  he  answers,  with  a  mild  courage,  such 
as  men  feel  who  step  out  to  lead  a  forlorn  hope.  "  You 
can't  go  back ;  you  can't  turn  on  this  wretched  stone ; 
and  you  can't  wade — you,  a  delicate  lady." 

"  I'm  not  delicate.    I'm  very  strong." 

"  I  don't  care,"  he  replies,  waxing  valiant.  "  The 
Prince  entrusted  you  to  my  care.  Pretty  kind  of 
fellow  I  should  be  to  allow  you  to  get  wet,  catch  cold, 
and  have  a  dangerous  illness,  perhaps ! " 

She  laughs  at  his  eagerness,  and  encouraged,  though 
she  did  not  mean  it  for  encouragement,  he  draws 
nearer  to  her,  and  puts  his  arm  round  her  waist. 
Even  at  that  moment  his  reverence  for  her  almost 
daunts  him,  and  he  stands  with  a  strange  look  in  his 
eyes,  and  a  sudden  quiver  of  the  lips.  He  has  had  his 
arm  round  many  a  lady's  waist,  in  waltz  and  polka, 
without  any  of  that  shrinking  sense  of  outrage  which 
possesses  him  now. 

And  she,  as  she  feels  his  strong  arm  around  her,  a 
thrill — mysterious,  half  pleasurable,  half  painful — runs 
through  her ;  but  she  cannot  shrink  back,  even  if  she 
would,  there  is  not  room  for  it.  In  the  moment  of  her 
hesitation  she  looks  at  him,  then  her  eyes  droop,  and 
her  face  grows  pale.  With  a  sudden  resolution  he 
lifts  her  gently,  and  holding  her  against  his  heart, 
wades  towards  the  opposite  shore.  He  can  feel  her 
heart  beat  almost  against  his  arm,  the  tips  of  her 
fingers  just  touch  his  neck,  the  lace  on  her  dress 
brushes  against  his  lips,  and  for  a  moment  the  keen 
delight  almost  overpowers  him.  He  cannot  go  quickly, 
lest  by  a  false  step  he  should  stumble  and  drop  her. 
In  his  heart  he  wishes  that  the  stream  were  a  mile 
wide.  The  rush  of  the  water  is  ecstatic  music  in  his 


112        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

ears,  for  he  is  in  that  paradise  which  men  call  "  First 
Love."  Trembling,  not  with  fear,  for  she  feels  safe  in 
his  strong  arms,  a  rapt  feeling  takes  possession  of  her, 
too  new  and  mystical  for  her  to  comprehend.  Deep  as 
is  the  water,  uncertain  as  is  the  footing,  he  carries  her 
as  easily  as  if  he  walked  the  pavement  of  St.  Mark. 
She  does  not  know  that  he  has  set  his  whole  mind  on 
this  task,  and  that  every  step  is  taken  warily  and  with 
the  deepest  consideration,  and  that,  strong  as  he  is,  it 
is  just  as  much  as  he  can  do  to  keep  foothold  at  all  in 
the  middle  of  the  river.  What  a  whirl  of  wild  pas- 
sions are  at  his  heart,  making  it  beat  like  a  steam 
hammer,  as  he  reaches  shallow  water,  then  dry  land ! 
He  does  not  set  her  down  for  a  moment,  but  stands 
trying  to  regain  self-possession,  to  press  back  a  mad 
intense  longing  to  draw  her  still  closer  to  him,  and — 
kiss  her. 

Honor  wins,  however.  He  bends  forward  so  that 
he  may  set  her  on  her  feet ;  but  alas  for  honor !  At 
that  instant  a  strand  of  golden  hair,  that  has  escaped 
from  its  coil,  sweeps  across  his  face,  and  catches  in  the 
pin  of  his  scarf.  With  a  faint  awakening  cry  of  pain, 
she  puts  up  her  hand  to  free  it,  her  hands  touch  his 
face — the  mad  longing,  like  an  unseen  spirit,  rises 
within  him  again,  and  overmasters  him.  Ere  he 
knows  what  he  is  about,  he  draws  her  to  his  bosom 
with  a  fierce  embrace,  and — kisses  her. 

Motionless  she  stands  and  looks  down  at  him  as 
some  vestal  might  have  done  in  the  old  Roman  days, 
when  the  savage  Vandal  broke  into  the  sanctuary  and 
seized  the  sacred  maidens.  She  says  not  a  word,  but 
in  the  wide-open  eyes  there  is  an  expression  of  both 
fear  and  amazement.  The  dawning  of  a  new  life  has 
come  to  her.  The  magic  stream  is  crossed;  from 


LOVE'S  YOUNG  DREAM.  113 

henceforth  the  timid  girl,  innocent  of  the  meaning  of 
love,  has  vanished  forever. 

"  Forgive  me,  forgive  me,  Princess  di  Roumaine," 
he  pants  breathlessly.  "I  was  mad.  Pray  do  not 
look  at  me  like  that." 

Slowly  a  faint  tinge  of  color  comes  back  into  her 
face.  She  draws  her  hands  quickly  from  his  grasp, 
and  although  her  eyes  are  rilled  with  tears,  the  voice 
is  strangely  firm  and  steady,  as  she  asks,  "  Why  did 
you  do  it?" 

"  Because — because  I  was  an  unworthy  brute  and  a 
coward,"  he  cried  with  vehement  remorse.  "Please 
don't  cry — don't — I  can't  bear  it ;  upbraid  me,  send  me 
away  with  the  scorn  and  contempt  I  deserve.  I  will 
go — and  never — never  see  you  again.  Never ! " 

She  clasps  her  hands  tightly  together  and  looks  at 
him  as  he  kneels  penitently  before  her,  in  his  dripping 
habiliments.  His  handsome  face  is  full  of  sad,  sincere 
contrition.  She  thinks  swiftly  of  all  his  gentleness 
during  the  brief  time  she  has  known  him,  his  care  and 
consideration  for  her,  of  a  hundred  little  trifles,  looks, 
tones,  that  proclaim  him  a  true-hearted  gentleman. 

"  Oh,  why  did  you  do  it  ?  "  she  repeats,  her  delicate 
brows  knit  and  her  looks  fixed  on  his  with  solemn 
trouble. 

"  Why  ?  "  he  echoes,  with  deep-drawn  breath.  "  Be- 
cause I  couldn't  help  it ;  because  I  love  you."  The 
words  were  out. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life  the  banker's  daughter 
hears  that  which  means  so  much  in  a  girl's  life — be 
she  princess  or  parlor-maid.  A  vivid  crimson  rushes 
to  her  face  and  neck,  and  goes,  leaving  her  pale  and 
trembling. 

"  It  is  the  truth,"  he  goes  on,  pleadingly.  "  I  should 
8 


114        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

not  have  done  it  if  I  had  not  loved  you.  Ah !  Princess 
— Violante,  say  you  will  forgive  me,  and  let  me  go.  I 
will  never  come  back,  never  trouble  you  again.  Just 
say,  I  forgive  you." 

She  scarcely  heeds  his  pleading.  Her  whole  soul  is 
filled  with  these  words,  "  I  love  you ! "  She  thinks  of 
love  as  she  has  read  of  it  in  books,  not  understanding 
it  by  any  means,  but  treating  it  as  something  that 
never  could  by  any  possibility  come  within  the  range 
of  her  experience. 

The  young  colonist  watches  her  face,  and  waits. 

Presently  she  turns,  and  says  softly,  "  It  is  but  two 
short  weeks  since  we  saw  each  other  for  the  first 
time." 

"  True,  only  two  weeks,"  he  says. 

"  And  yet — ah !  it  seems  impossible." 

"No,"  he  rejoins,  his  eyes  glowing  with  intense 
eagerness  to  convince  her,  "  I  repeat — I  love  you !  I 
loved  you  the  first  moment  we  met.  My  heart  seemed 
to  go  out  from  me.  If  I  talked  for  a  week  I  could  not 
explain.  One  does  not  learn  to  love.  It  comes  unbid- 
den, and  in  a  moment.  That  is  it." 

He  rises  and  stands  beside  her,  looking  down  wist- 
fully for  some  token  of  forgiveness  to  show  itself  in 
the  beautiful  face,  that  flushes  and  quivers  in  doubt 
and  astonishment. 

"  I  have  loved  you  from  the  first,  else  why  should  I 
have  been  in  hourly  dread  of  having  to  leave  Venice 
and  you — of  never  seeing  you  again  ?  " 

She  can't  unravel  it  at  all — try  as  she  will. 

"  The  first  evening  I  spent  at  Del  Grade,  you  dropped 
this  rosebud  from  your  robe,"  he  says,  producing  a 
withered  flower  from  some  secret  recess  of  his  vest. 
"  I  watched  this  rose,  and  longed  for  it,  because  you 


LOVE'S  YOUNG  DREAM.          H5 

had  touched  it.  Take  it  back  again  ;  I  am  unworthy 
to  retain  it." 

She  puts  forth  her  hand  without  looking  at  him,  and 
takes  the  crushed  blossom;  it  looks  a  poor  sort  of 
treasure,  but  she  regards  it  thoughtfully,  as  if  per- 
chance it  might  make  the  mystery  more  easy  to  her. 

"  I  could  not  go  until  I  had  asked  you  to  forgive  me. 
But  I  will  go  now,"  he  adds  firmly. 

"  No,"  she  answers  softly.     "  I  forgive  you." 

"  Thank  you ;  I  do  not  deserve  it,  I  know,"  with  a 
pleading  look  in  the  bright  blue  eyes.  "  Shall  I  go 
now,  and — and  may  I  have  that  rose  again — just  as  a 
token  of  your  forgiveness  ?  " 

"  It  is  withered  and  dead,"  she  says,  holding  it  to- 
wards him,  while  the  tell-tale  crimson  mantles  her 
face. 

"  I  shall  keep  it  in .  remembrance  of  my  love  for 
you.  When  you  have  quite  forgotten,  I  shall  keep  this 
and  still  remember." 

"  And  you — you  are  very  sorry  ? "  she  asks,  with  a 
quiver  of  her  lip,  and  an  upward  look  at  him. 

"  No,  I  am  not  sorry,"  he  responds  almost  in  a 
whisper.  "  I  am  only  sorry  that  you  will  not  let  me 
love  you." 

"  Let  you  ?  "  she  repeats,  her  eyelashes  covering  the 
bright  eyes  beneath. 

"  Yes  ;  if  I  thought  that  perhaps  some  time  in  the 
future  you — you  would  try  and — and  love  me  !  Dear 
Violante,  don't  be  angry.  Do  you  think  that  you 
could  ever  learn  to  love  me  just  a  little?" 

She  turns  her  eyes  up  at  him  with  religious  sincerity. 
"  I  do  not  know,"  she  murmurs ;  "  I  do  not  know." 

"  It  would  make  me  so  much  happier,  and  I  could  go 
away  without  a  pang  of  regret.  Of  course,  I  cannot 


116        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

expect  you  to  care  for  me  as  I  do  for  you.  Why 
should  you  ?  "  He  goes  on  gathering  courage  every 
moment,  as  a  man  will  do  when  he  is  doing  battle  with 
a  woman  for  love's  sake.  "  But,  see  now,  supposing  you 
were  never — never  to  see  me  any  more — I  mean,  all 
your  life — should  you  be  very  sorry  ?  " 

She  thinks  of  all  the  brightness  he  has  brought 
into  her  life  in  those  brief  days.  "  Yes,  I  should  be 
very  sorry." 

"  Look  you,"  he  says,  kneeling  on  one  knee,  his  hand 
touching  her  arm  pleadingly.  "  Supposing — it's  absurd, 
of  course — but  supposing  you  knew  that  I  was  going 
to  be  married ;  should  you  be  sorry  ?  " 

She  does  not  answer,  but  her  lips  tremble  with 
agitation. 

"  I  can  only  think  of  one  thing  else,"  he  says  softly. 
"  In  that  new  land  to  which  I  belong,  there  is  war — 
war  to  the  death.  Supposing  that  I  never  returned, 
and  some  months  hence  your  father  received  a  letter 
from  mine,  saying  that  the  idle,  frivolous  fellow  who 
aspired  to  your  love  had  died — died  with  a  weapon  in 
his  hand  and  his  face  to  the  foe.  Suppose " 

With  a  low  cry,  she  turns  to  him,  her  hands  held 
up  to  shut  out  the  sight  of  this  dreadful  picture.  "  Oh, 
no,  no ! " 

He  takes  her  hands  and  pressing  them  against  his 
breast,  says  fervently  :  "  Violante,  I  think  you  will  love 
me.  If  you  cannot  bear  to  think  of  me  as  dead,  then 
there  is  hope  that  I  am  not  quite  indifferent  to  you. 
Oh,  Violante ! — dear,  dear,  Yiolante ! — tell  me  the  truth. 
May  I  hope  that  you  will  grow  to  love  me  ?  Say  you 
will ! " 

"  Ah !  but  I  love  you,  now,"  she  murmurs  softly. 
"  Oh,  how  you  frighten  me ! "  for  he  has  taken  her  in 


LOVE'S  YOUNG  DREAM.  117 

his  arms,  and  pressed  her  to  him  with  passionate 
devotion.  He  kisses  the  silken  hair,  whose  golden 
brown  strands  are  blown  across  his  breast.  "  Can  it 
be  true  ?  "  he  says,  half  doubtful  of  the  fortune  the  gods 
have  showered  on  him.  "  Why,  only  last  night  I  was 
afraid  to  look  at  you — you  seemed  so  far  from  me  in 
your  loveliness,  your  gentleness.  And  you  love  me — 
are  you  sure,  quite  sure  ?  " 

"  Quite  sure,"  she  exclaims,  her  eyes  fixed  on  him, 
with  a  rapt  look ;  "  I  cannot  say  why,  but  I  am  sure." 

"  And  you  did  not  know  this  even  an  hour  ago  ?  " 

"  It  was  all  so  sudden,  so  strange,"  she  murmurs. 
"  No  one  ever  spoke  to  me  of  love  before.  I  had  never 
thought  of  it.  And  then  it  all  came  to  me  like  a  flash, 
when  you  spoke  of  dying !  Ah,  why  did  you  do  it  ?  " 
shuddering. 

"  It  was  cruel,  but  I  wanted  to  know  if  there  was 
any  hope  for  me,"  he  says  penitently.  "  I  wish  I  could 
make  you  understand  how  happy  I  feel." 

"  Perhaps  I  know,"  she  responds  shyly,  her  face 
crimson. 

"Violante?" 

"Yes." 

"Will  you  let  me  kiss  you,  now  ?" 

She  puts  her  palms  upon  his  breast,  and  lifts  her 
pure  lips  to  meet  his.  And  silence  falls  upon  them. 
Save  for  the  boisterous  tide,  a  solemn  stillness  broods 
over  the  spot  where  the  love-god  reigns,  and  where 
he  holds  his  vassals  in  a  mysterious  dream. 

The  Princess  starts  up  gently  and  pulls  out  her 
watch.  Both  of  them  had  forgotten  time  and  place, 
past  and  future.  "  It  is  past  twelve,  and  your  clothes 
are  soaking  wet,"  she  says.  "  What  shall  we  do  ?  " 

"Get  to  the  villa  as  fast  as  we  can,"  he  rejoins, 


118        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

taking  her  hand  in  his.  "  If  you  are  tired,  I  can  carry 
you,  you  know." 

She  blushes  and  looks  at  him  reproachfully.  "  You 
are  not  to  remember  that,"  she  says  chidingly. 

"  Am  I  not  ?  Very  well.  I'll  never  speak  of  it 
but  to  forget  it — impossible."  He  draws  the  costly 
wrap  round  her  as  he  speaks,  and  steals  one  more  kiss 
of  the  golden  brown  tresses ;  and  they  start  for  home. 
They  do  not  talk  much  on  the  way,  at  least  in  words ; 
but  every  now  and  then  his  hand  touches  hers,  and 
sometimes  her  fingers  close  over  his  with  a  gentle 
pressure.  She  is  too  innocent  to  hide  her  love.  Her 
pure  unstained  soul  is  free  to  his  gaze. 

He  wonders  what  the  Prince  will  say — how  he  will 
take  it!  How  Lyndhurst  will  look  when  he  tells 
him  of  Violante !  The  poor  exquisite  is  afraid  of  both, 
but  he  is  resolved  to  fight  the  battle  out  as  he  began. 


PETER  DUSK.  119 


CHAPTER  XI. 

PETER   DUSK. 

THERE  is  no  lack  of  gloomy  buildings  in  Venice,  even 
at  the  present  day.  One  of  the  most  massive,  and 
withal,  dull  and  dreary  as  the  outside  of  a  jail,  is  the 
Hotel  de  Collotte.  Its  windows  and  balconies  hang 
over  the  Grand  Canal  like  the  leaning  tower  of  Pisa. 
The  main  approach  to  it  is  by  the  water-way  beyond 
the  Bridge  of  Sighs,  world-famed  in  song  and  story. 

If  the  exterior  of  De  Collette  seemed  mouldy, 
decayed,  and  time-worn,  it  by  no  means  followed  that 
its  interior  presented  the  same  uninviting  aspect.  In- 
deed, all  things  considered,  this  hostelry  was  one  of  the 
best  in  the  city,  its  host  being  no  less  a  personage  than 
a  waif  from  the  Emerald  Isle,  commonly  known  as  Tim 
McClure,  a  fine  upstanding  fellow,  six  feet  three  in  his 
socks,  who  had  seen  service  under  Wellington.  How 
McClure  came  to  be  a  publican  in  the  centre  of  Italy 
was  a  question  best  known  to  mine  host  of  the  Hotel 
de  Collotte  himself ;  certain  it  is  that  exile  appeared 
to  trouble  him  but  little.  He  had  evidently  prospered 
and  grown  fat  in  the  land  of  his  adoption. 

On  one  of  the  overhanging  balconies,  above  the  canal, 
sat  a  thick-set  man,  lazily  watching  the  receding 
autumnal  sun  illumining  sea  and  sky  away  beyond  the 
Adriatic.  He  was  not  a  very  tall  man,  but  his  sturdy 
limbs  were  stretched  out  in  easeful  indolence  to  their 
fullest  extent,  like  one  who  thoroughly  enjoyed  a  quiet 


120        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

rest  after  severe  exercise.  His  age  might  have  been 
fifty  or  thirty,  or  anything  between  the  two.  Looking 
at  him,  you  came  to  the  conclusion  at  once  that,  what- 
ever might  be  his  years,  he  had  evidently  taken  good 
care  of  Number  One.  He  was  altogether  a  common 
man,  with  a  bullet-shaped  head,  and  two  prominent 
bumps  thereon  that  a  prize-fighter  might  have  envied, 
providing  the  said  pugilist  had  combined  phrenology 
with  fistiana.  A  common  man,  indeed,  with  no  pre- 
tensions to  good  looks ;  his  hands  and  face  are  the  same 
color  as  his  tawny  beard ;  the  mouth  and  the  eyes  alone 
show  the  index  to  the  man.  The  first  exhibits  pa- 
tience and  determination  to  an  extraordinary  degree, 
the  latter  glisten  with  the  cunning  of  the  fox,  com- 
mingled with  that  animal  courage  of  the  bull-dog  order 
which  bites  to  the  death.  Such  is  Peter  Dusk,  detective, 
Scotland  Yard,  London,  as  he  sits  smoking  on  the 
veranda  of  the  H6tel  de  Collotte,  awaiting  a  visit  from 
his  employer. 

He  has  not  long  to  wait.  Ere  the  sun  has  dipped 
its  disc  in  the  molten  sea,  mine  host  thrusts  his  gray 
head  through  the  doorway :  "  A  couple  of  gentlemen 
waiting  to  see  you,  sir." 

"  All  right ;  show  them  up,"  is  the  laconic  rejoinder. 

The  detective  flings  his  cigar  over  the  balcony,  goes 
to  a  small  room  on  the  opposite  side  to  that  by 
which  the  landlord  made  his  appearance,  and  having 
locked  the  door,  advances  to  meet  his  visitors.  The 
veteran  host  retires,  and  Ralph  Warne  introduces 
Alton  Lyndhurst  to  the  detective. 

"  Can  I  speak  freely  before  this  gentleman  ?  "  says 
the  latter,  after  a  pause,  during  which  he  produced  a 
well-worn  note-book  from  some  secret  recess  of  his  coat. 

"  Certainly,"  answers  Warne.    "  This  gentleman  is  my 


PETEE  DUSK.  121 

friend,  and,  I  may  add,  as  much  interested  in  the 
business  you  have  in  hand  as  I  am  myself.  To  save 
time,  may  I  beg  you  will  favor  us  with  a  brief  account 
of  what  has  been  done  since  you  took  this  matter  in 
hand?  I  have  a  motive,  which  makes  it  absolutely 
necessary  that  Mr.  Lyndhurst  should  become  acquainted 
with  the  facts  from  yourself." 

Peter  Dusk  glances  at  the  novelist,  then  opens  his 
memoranda,  and  lays  them  on  the  table  before  him.  "  I 
shall  be  very  brief,"  he  says  in  his  hard  matter-of-fact 
voice,  "  and  will  say  what  I  have  to  say  in  my  own 
way." 

Warne,  who  is  in  the  act  of  lighting  a  cigar,  nods 
approval. 

"  Mr.  Hilton  Fernbrook,  a  young  colonist  of  ample 
means,  left  his  home  on  June  21,  18 — ,  and  embarked  on 
board  the  good  ship  '  Stormbird '  for  Europe,  where  he 
intended  doing  a  long  tour.  In  two  years  he  managed 
to  see  most  of  the  chief  cities  of  Italy,  Switzerland, 
Germany,  and  France,"  says  the  detective.  "  On  Sep- 
tember 11,  18 — ,  I  find  he  has  visited  London,  and  taken 
up  his  quarters  at  the  Clarendon.  From  London  he  is 
easily  traced  to  Paris,  and  from  thence  to  an  old  town 
on  the  Rhine,  called  Kahlberg.  At  this  place  Hilton 
Fernbrook  forms  an  acquaintance,  in  the  person  of 
Colonel  de  Roal,  a  great  traveller,  and  an  ex-officer  of 
the  French  army.  The  colonel  is  a  man  of  the  world, 
with  vast  experience,  but  poor  as  a  mouse.  The  young 
colonial  has  plenty  of  money,  but  no  experience — ergo, 
the  Colonel  and  Mr.  Fernbrook  become  friends.  They 
returned  to  Paris  together,  and  spent  the  remainder  of 
the  season  in  the  French  metropolis.  I  trust  I  make 
myself  plain,  sir?"  with  a  quick  upward  glance  at 
Lyndhurst. 


122        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

"  Perfectly." 

"  From  a  reliable  source,  I  next  discover  traces  of  my 
men  at  Alexandria,  in  Egypt.  At  Cairo  the  Colonel 
organizes  a  party  to  proceed  up  the  Nile  as  far  as 
Sinnevett.  Without  doubt  this  adventurous  trip  is 
taken  at  the  i  ns  tance  of  young  Fernbrook.  The  Colon  el , 
I  repeat,  is  well  travelled,  and  knows  the  mighty  river 
as  well  as  any  native,  therefore  they  need  no  guide 
save  De  Roal  himself. 

"  The  party  consists  of  four  men — our  two  friends  and 
two  Italian  artists,  together  with  a  man-servant  at- 
tached to  the  Colonel,  an  Arab,  Rabez  by  name. 

"  At  the  town  of  Ghiza,  one  of  the  Italians  fell  ill. 
His  compatriot  remained  behind  to  tend  him,  while  the 
Colonel  and  Fernbrook,  accompanied  by  the  Arab  pro- 
ceeded onward. 

"  Up  to  this  point  every  link  in  the  chain  of  evidence 
is  as  clear  as  noonday,"  continued  Dusk,  leaning  his 
arms  on  the  table  and  looking  full  at  his  visitors.  "  But 
I  may  here  remark  that,  beyond  that  old  Egyptian 
village,  the  information  I  received  about  my  men  was 
both  perplexing  and  contradictory.  It  would  be  al- 
together out  of  place  to  detail  how  I  discovered  that 
Fernbrook  and  Colonel  de  Roal,  together  with  the 
friendly  Arab  servant,  had  been  captured  by  a  fierce 
Bedouin  Sheik,  on  whose  territory  they  had  unwittingly 
trespassed  in  crossing  the  second  cataract  of  the  Nile. 
Suffice  it,  I  traced  them  to  this  spot,  heard  how  they 
had  been  taken  prisoners,  yet,  in  spite  of  the  resources 
at  my  command,  I  was  unable  to  track  them  one  step 
farther. 

"  I  returned  to  Cairo,  baffled  but  not  beaten,  and 
went  back  to  London.  From  certain  information  which 
reached  me  three  months  later,  I  started  for  Paris, 


PETER  DUSK.  123 

and  from  thence  directed  my  steps  to  Cairo.  I  had 
not  been  long  in  the  latter  city  ere  I  picked  up  the  clue 
to  our  two  friends,  Mr.  Fernbrook  and  the  Colonel.  I 
may  remark  that,  throughout  the  whole  of  my  inves- 
tigations hitherto,  I  had  not  heard  one  word  to  sully 
the  honor  or  morality  of  these  two  men.  Now,  how- 
ever, my  inquiries  led  me  into  the  most  objectionable 
places.  Gaming,  dissipation,  and  objects  of  more  evil 
repute,  appear  to  have  been  the  daily  routine  in  the 
life  of  the  Colonel  and  his  friend.  No  one  in  Cairo 
seemed  to  hold  such  an  unenviable  notoriety  as  Mr. 
Fernbrook,  who  was  known  only  as  Victor  Mauprat. 
It  was  on  account'of  this  change  of  name  that  my  task 
became  such  a  difficult  one.  My  researches  led  me  to 
double  back  to  Paris  and  through  most  of  the  cities  of 
Europe,  until  I  picked  up  the  clue  at  a  fashionable 
gaming-den  in  the  West  End  of  London.  Here,  for  a 
time,  my  work  was  clear  and  easy.  One  evening,  Fern- 
brook,  or  Mauprat — which  you  will,  for  they  are  one 
and  the  same — was  at  play  with  some  officers  belong- 
ing to  the th  Hussars,  at  the  aforesaid  den — politely 

termed  a  club.  Colonel  de  Roal  was  also  of  the  party. 
The  play  was  high,  and  the  players  had  been  imbibing 
freely. 

"  Some  time  after  midnight  a  dispute  arose  between 
Captain  Vipont,  one  of  the  officers  who  had  lost  con- 
siderably, and  Mauprat.  Disputation  ended  in  blows, 
and  a  duel  was  the  consequence.  It  was  just  at  break 
of  day  when  this  happened,  and  the  whole  party  went 
forth  straightway  from  the  gaming-house  to  the  scene 
of  the  encounter.  The  combat  was  with  small  swords, 
and  a  most  bloody  combat  it  was.  Eye-witnesses 
swore  that  it  was  not  a  duel,  but  a  matter  of  deliberate 
.murder.  I  have  a  record  of  the  event ;  read  it  at  jour 


124        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

leisure,  sir,"  and  the  detective  produced  an  old  news- 
paper and  handed  it  to  Warne. 

"  Be  that  as  it  may,  Victor  Mauprat  was  arrested 
and  placed  upon  his  trial  for  killing  Captain  Vipont,  of 

the th  Hussars  ;  he  was  found  guilty  on  the  lesser 

charge  of  manslaughter,  and  sentenced  to  seven 
years'  penal  servitude.  Two  of  Mauprat's  confed- 
erates were  arrested  with  him.  One,  a  well-known 
card-sharper  and  swindler  named  Sharpe,  with  half 
a  dozen  aliases,  was  convicted  at  the  same  time. 
Meanwhile  the  news  comes  that  Mauprat  and  one  of 
his  associates  have  broken  out  from  Portland  Prison. 
As  they  were  never  discovered,  it  is  believed  they 
escaped  to  Australia  and  made  their  way  to  Sydney, 
and  there  is  no  doubt  in  my  mind  but  that  these  men 
seized  the  schooner  «  Seagull '  in  Port  Jackson.  How 
they  escaped  from  the  burning  wreck  is  the  question 
to  be  solved." 

"  Pardon  me,"  answered  Lyndhurst ;  "  if,  as  you 
aver,  Hilton  Fernbrook  and  Victor  Mauprat  are  one 
and  the  same  person,  then  I  can  vouch  that  the  whole 
of  the  wretches  did  not  perish  as  is  supposed.  Victor 
Mauprat,  or  Fernbrook,  is  now  in  New  Zealand." 

The  detective  smiled.  "Mr.  Warne  repeated  the 
same  statement  to  me  some  days  ago,"  he  said.  "  Is 
not  Sharpe  there  also  ?  " 

"  Yes,  certainly.  That  is  the  name  of  his  confiden- 
tial servant." 

"  Then  it  is  clear  that  Messieurs  Sharpe  and  Mauprat 
escaped  from  the  burning  vessel,"  remarked  Dusk, 
quietly.  "  Would  you  recognize  Fernbrook's  likeness, 
if  you  saw  it  ?  " 

"  Undoubtedly,"  repeated  the  novelist.  "  His  is  a 
face  once  seen  always  remembered." 


PETER  DUSK.  125 

"  Humph !  Is  that  anything  like  the  Master  of 
Fernbrook  ? "  and  the  detective  puts  a  photo  into  his 
hand. 

"Why,  it  is  the  man  himself,"  cries  Lyndhurst, 
"  only  the  apparel  is  not  that  usually  worn  by  gentle- 
men." 

"  No,  that  picture  was  taken  in  prison  after  Mau- 
prat's  trial." 

"  It  is  a  faithful  likeness  of  the  man." 

"  Do  you  know  this  one  ?  "  asked  Dusk,  producing  a 
second  photograph. 

"  That  is  Colonel  de  Roal,"  exclaimed  the  novelist, 
in  some  surprise.  "  The  face  here  seems  younger,  but 
it  is  more  worn  and  haggard  that  when  I  saw  the  orig- 
inal last.  It  is  the  same,  however." 

"  Without  doubt,"  observed  the  detective  ;  "  and 
here  we  have  the  counterpart  of  the  Ferret,  alias  Joe 
Sharpe." 

"This  is  a  strange  revelation,"  responded  Lynd- 
hurst, after  a  pause,  during  which  he  had  minutely 
studied  each  of  the  three  photos  in  turn.  'I  cannot 
refrain  from  expressing  my  admiration  at  your  energy 
and  tact,  sir,  in  securing  such  a  perfect  chain  of  testi- 
mony as  you  have  been  pleased  to  lay  before  my  friend 
and  myself,  concerning  persons  who  have  no  right  to 
mix  with  honest  men.  Now,  may  I  ask  what  further 
steps  you  intend  to  take  in  this  very  strange  and,  I 
may  say,  disagreeable  business  ?" 

"  That  will  depend  upon  Mr.  Warne,"  responded  the 
detective.  "  One  thing  I  would  ask  is,  that  the  sub- 
ject remain  as  it  is  for  a  few  days.  Something  has 
happened  since  yesterday  which  has  greatly  surprised 
me." 

"Anything  in  connection  with  this  case?" 


126        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

"Yes." 

"  Have  you  any  objection  to  say  what  it  is,  sir  ?  " 

"  None ;  providing  you  gentlemen  give  me  your  word 
of  honor  that  you  will  not  interfere  in  any  way  on  the 
strength  of  my  communication." 

"  We  promise." 

"  Thank  you.  Well,  then,  gentlemen,  I  have  seen 
Hilton  Fernbrook,  alias  Victor  Mauprat,  within  the 
last  few  hours,"  said  Dusk,  gravely. 

"  What !  here  in  Venice  ?  "  cried  Warne  and  Lynd- 
hurst  together. 

"  Here  in  Venice,  gentlemen.  There  can  be  no  mis- 
take about  that,"  responded  the  other,  decidedly. 

"The  thing  is  impossible,"  answered  the  young 
banker.  "  I  received  a  direct  communication  from  my 
father  at  noon  this  day,  in  which  he  states  that  Fern- 
brook  was  at  the  bank,  on  some  business,  while  the 
letter  was  being  written.  My  epistle  has  come  by  a 
route  that  Mr.  Fernbrook  could  not  travel,  even  if  he 
had  left  New  Zealand  at  the  self-same  time,  which  is 
an  absurd  supposition." 

"I  may  have  been  mistaken,  but  I  do  not  think  so," 
said  Dusk,  with  his  peculiar  smile.  "  Be  good  enough 
to  leave  the  matter  to  me,  gentlemen,  and  the  day  after 
to-morrow,  at  this  hour,  you  shall  have  fuller  informa- 
tion, I  promise  you.  In  the  mean  time,  allow  me  to 
accompany  you  to  your  gondola." 


TRANCE  SHADOWS.  127 


CHAPTER  XII. 

TRAXCE     SHADOWS. 

SITTING  here  in  my  lonely  room,  out  of  the  rush  and 
hurry  and  the  roar  of  business,  I  became,  as  it  were 
conscious  of  thoughts  taking  definite  shape,  and  bear- 
ing me  away  to  that  other  and  more  familiar  world 
where  buying  and  selling,  cheating  and  lying,  cannot 
enter.  I  have  been  there  very  often,  so  often,  indeed, 
that  many  of  its  far-off,  hazy  labyrinths  are  well  known 
to  me.  And  what  mazes,  what  countless,  inextricable 
windings  hast  thou,  oh,  wonderful  world  of  the  Ideal ! 
If  I  grow  weary  of  hollow  glitter,  and  the  shams  of 
respectable  humbug,  I  have  a  safe  refuge  in  thee! 
There  are  no  wailings  of  injustice,  nor  groans  of  pain 
and  want,  within  thy  fair  domains. 

Men  of  one  idea  will  laugh  and  say,  This  is  the 
drivel  of  insanity.  Let  them  say  on.  Ignorance  is 
rampant  and  intolerant  to-day,  as  it  has  been  on  many 
u  day  that  witnessed  the  envious  persecution  of  many 
of  God's  noblest  creatures.  I  have  my  talent,  and  I 
do  not  mean  to  hide  it  because  your  lordship  sneers. 
What  then  !  Shall  I  pander  to  the  teeming  ignorance 
around  me  ?  Go  to ! 

Sitting  here,  with  the  evening  gloaming  gather- 
ing round  and  about  me,  my  mind  returns  to  that 
forbidden  study  that  had  its  cradle  in  the  forgotten 
ages: — 


128        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERN  BROOK. 

The  God  who  floats  upon  a  lotus  leaf 
Dreams  for  a  thousand  years  ;  then  awaking 
Creates  a  world,  and  smiling  at  the  bubble 
Relapses  into  bliss. 

I  see  a  form  arise  whose  name  is  "  Od  Force."  Men 
call  it  animal  magnetism,  and  pronounce  it  a  profane 
thing.  Ancient  Egypt  jealously  guarded  its  secrets 
from  the  mass  of  the  people,  not  because  they  doubted 
its  truth,  but  because  it  served  the  higher  priesthood, 
who  held  a  power  seemingly  Divine. 

Mediaeval  Germany  kept  its  mysteries  from  the 
public  eye,  inasmuch  as  the  age  that  burnt  witches, 
and  imprisoned  poor  Galileo,  was  obviously  not  a  tol- 
erant one.  From  the  fragmentary  writings  of  the  old 
mystics  came  Mesmer,  and  with  him  Puysegur. 
These  men  showed  the  strange  bond  existing  between 
man  and  the  globe  on  which  he  lives,  and  how  much 
he  is  unwillingly  influenced  by  his  fellow-creatures. 

Colonel  de  Roal  had  gone  beyond  both  Mesmer  and 
Puysegur  in  the  abstruse  study  of  electro-biology  and 
clairvoyance.  Determined  and  daring,  with  a  will 
almost  unconquerable,  he  had  taken  a  stand  which 
scientists  and  schoolmen  had  attacked  and  stormed  in 
vain.  Be  it  understood,  this  is  not  a  treatise  on  Od 
Force.  De  Roal  has  been  cast  upon  these  pages  as  the 
personification  of  the  principle  of  a  comparatively  un- 
known and,  as  yet,  unrecognized  power  in  Nature.  If 
I  can  make  the  mesmerist  interesting,  dear  reader,  my 
task  is  attained.  Belief  is  an  intellectual  concession, 
not  always  agreeable  to  self-love.  To  profess  disbelief 
conveys  an  impression  of  superior  knowingness  ;  there 
is,  therefore,  a  great  deal  of  skepticism  which  has 
scarcely  any  root  but  vanity. 


TRANCE  SHADOWS.  129 

The  Barrier  Rock  stands  gloomily  out  in  the  declin- 
ing light  of  evening.  Fernbrook's  guests  have  de- 
parted, and  left  the  old  house  cold  and  silent  in  its 
loneliness ;  except  for  the  Colonel  and  that  uproarious 
giant,  Drummond  Blake,  there  is  no  one  about  the 
place,  save  the  regular  inmates. 

Within  a  room  on  the  basement,  whose  windows 
face  the  sea,  the  setting  sun  glints  upon  three  persons 
— Te  Coro,  De  Roal,  and  the  young  Master  of  Fern- 
brook.  To  a  casual  observer,  nothing  could  be  more 
proper  and  natural  than  the  position  of  the  trio.  The 
Maori  girl,  reclining  upon  a  soft  couch,  had  evidently 
fallen  asleep  over  the  perusal  of  a  book,  which  had 
fallen  to  her  lap ;  Hilton  sat  by  the  window,  gazing 
out  at  the  turbulent  ocean ;  De  Roal  occupied  a  sort 
of  recess  behind  the  couch  on  which  Te  Coro  dozed. 
A  first  glance  at  the  room  and  its  occupants  would 
have  left  the  impression  that  a  quiet  afternoon  had 
been  spent  in  conversation  and  music.  Not  so,  how- 
ever ;  the  Colonel  had  sat  in  rear  of  the  clairvoyant 
Maori  girl  for  a  purpose,  and  that  purpose  he  had 
successfully  accomplished ;  yet  it  had  been  executed 
so  skilfully  that  had  even  Rita,  the  suspecting,  lynx- 
eyed  old  nurse,  been  present,  she  could  not  possibly 
have  detected  anything.  But  Rita  was  not  there. 
The  hard,  stern,  faithful  old  Maori  was  miles  away, 
working,  after  her  lights,  at  the  mystery  by  which  she 
found  herself  surrounded. 

Presently  the  Colonel  rises  and  approaches  the  win- 
dow. His  face  has  lost  some  of  its  ruddy  color  and 
smoothness,  and  there  is  one  long  deep  line  about  the 
mouth  denoting  pain,  or  maybe  some  stormy  internal 
passion  held  in  check. 

"My  son,  here  is  my  hand ;  let  us  be  friends  as  here- 
9 


130        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

tofore,"  he  says  blandly,  holding  forth  his  white  slender 
palm,  which  seemed  to  belong  to  some  high-bred  lady 
rather  than  to  a  man. 

The  young  man  looks  up  at  him  and  grasps  the 
proffered  hand.  "  My  dear  Colonel,  I  have  never  been 
unfriendly,"  he  responds. 

"  Tut !  Let  us  lay  aside  our  everyday  masks,  man 
fils"  answers  De  Roal,  smilingly.  "Years  ago,  you 
and  I  entered  the  lists  together  against  the  common 
foe,  humbug.  Shall  we  become  recreant  knights,  and 
swear  allegiance  to  our  enemy  ?  " 

Hilton  Fernbrook  laughs. 

"  Come,  my  son,  we  will  clear  the  way  to  a  mutual 
understanding,"  continued  the  other,  in  his  cool,  quiet 
voice.  "  I  have  travelled  ten  thousand  miles  to  visit 
you." 

"And  spent  ten  thousand  pounds  out  of  the  ex- 
chequer of  Fernbrook  in  doing  it,"  chimed  in  the  other. 

"  Pooh  !  Money  is  not  to  be  weighed  in  the  scale  of 
relationship  such  as  ours,"  says  De  Roal.  "  What  is 
the  ten  thousand  against  liberty,  against  the  power 
and  the  splendor  of  such  a  domain  as  this  ?  " 

"  Colonel  de  Roal " 

"  Call  me  pere,  mon  enfant,''  interrupted  the  Colonel. 
"  There  is  a  filial  ring  about  the  term  which  suits  me. 
Basta !  are  you  not  my  son  ?  " 

"Truly,  I  am  so,"  returned  the  other  with  fierce 
irony,  "  the  son  of  a  great pere,  who  has,  amongst  other 
accomplishments,  inherited  the  art  of  being  the  first 
rake-hell  alive." 

"  Why  not  add,  duellist,  convict,  and  prison-breaker 
to  the  list?"  inquired  the  elder  man,  with  some  grace. 

A  strange  harsh  laugh  broke  from  the  lips  of  Hilton 
Fernbrook.  "It  would  not  be  wise  to  hint  such  a 


TRANCE  SHADOWS.  131 

thing,  dear  pere"  he  said,  with  mocking  sarcasm. 
"  These  latter  graces  belong  to  the  son,  perchance  ?  " 

"  Perchance  ?  And  why  not  ?  Mark  me,  I  have 
made  humanity  my  chief  study  for  thirty  years  :  I  find 
certain  forces  at  work  around  me  which  baffle  the 
keenest  foresight.  Man  must  fufil  his  destiny,  good 
or  bad.  Victor  Mauprat  may  have  been  a  gambler, 
felon,  what  you  will,  but  if  he  were  standing  here  with 
you  face  to  face,  he  might  look  upon  you  as  an  arrant 
knave  and  impostor." 

"  Victor  Mauprat  is  dead." 

"  One  cannot  say  so  for  certain,  my  son.  Ere  now, 
men  have  come  back  to  life  that  had  been  mourned 
as  dead.  Victor  Mauprat  may  yet  turn  up  in  the 
flesh." 

"And  if  he  does?" 

"  Well,  why  do  you  pause,  Hilton  Fernbrook  ?  " 

"  Only  to  say  that  if  he  does,  mon  pere,  I  will  not  be 
the  means  of  sending  him  back  again  to  Portland." 

"Bravo!  We  shall  understand  each  other  pres- 
ently," cried  the  Colonel.  "  Now  tell  me ;  what  is  the 
nature  of  all  your  correspondence  with  the  Maori  chief- 
tains ?  Are  you  going  to  help  them  secretly  to  fight 
thePakehas?" 

"  Why  do  you  ask,  Colonel  ?  " 

"  Because  I  have  a  sword,  and  know  how  to  use  it." 

"You  want  employment,  mon  pere?" 

"Perhaps.    Answer  my  question." 

"It  is  easily  answered.  I  have  joined  the  Maori 
host,  and  I  mean  to  sink  or  swim  with  them." 

"  Egad !  You  are  singularly  brief,  my  son ;  and  I 
may  say,  to  the  point." 

"Words  are  empty  sound.  I  mean  to  act,"  re- 
sponded the  Master  of  the  Rock,  with  grim  earnestness. 


132        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

"  To  me  the  coffers  of  this  lonely  domain  are  drained 
to  the  dregs.  I  mean  to  replenish  them.  Are  you 
answered  ?  " 

The  Colonel  stands  and  gazes  at  his  companion  in 
mute  admiration.  "  Tut,  tut !  my  son.  The  thirty  and 
odd  years  I  have  spent  in  contemplating  the  motives 
of  my  fellow-men  have  been  altogether  wasted,"  he 
says,  in  a  reflective  way.  "  Most  of  all  have  I  studied 
you,  mon  cher,  but  I  find  I  don't  know  you.  Have  you 
lost  faith  in  Gaston  de  Koal,  that  you  hide  your  hand 
from  him  ?  " 

"  I  have  hidden  nothing,"  responds  the  young  man, 
quickly.  "  What  is  there  in  joining  the  cause  of  these 
oppressed  natives  ?  The  land  is  theirs.  They  do  but 
fight  for  their  birthright.  Besides,  am  I  not  their  kins- 
man ;  was  not  Hilton  Fernbrook's  mother  a  Maori  ?  " 

"  True,  my  son.  The  idea  was  cleverly  conceived," 
says  the  Colonel.  "  A  rebel  is  a  much  more  respectable 
term  than  convict,  and  who  knows  but  Victor  Mauprat 
may  come  back  ?  'Tis  better  to  fight  the  powers  that 
be,  with  a  small  army  at  your  back,  than  to  enter  the 
lists  single-handed." 

"  And  you  have  positively  decided  to  jointhe  rebels  ?  " 

"  I  have  sworn  to  lead  them  to  the  end,  win  or  lose," 
cries  the  other,  with  uplifted  arms. 

"Mafoi,  that  was  finely  given,  my  son,"  rejoins  De 
Roal.  At  this  moment,  however,  there  is  a  low  groan 
from  the  sleeping  Te  Coro,  which  causes  the  speaker 
to  pause. 

"  Hush  !  no  more  of  this,"  he  says  in  a  subdued  tone. 
"  In  your  presumption  you  have  thought  fit  to  discard 
my  counsel  and  advice,  and  disdain  my  aid.  But  I  will 
prove  to  you,  Hilton  Fernbrook,  that  I  am  all-power- 
ful yet,  and  that  you  cannot  afford  to  lose  my  help." 


TRANCE  SHADOWS.  133 

"Pshaw!  More  juggling,"  returned  the  other,  with 
curling  lip. 

"  Nay,  you  shall  judge,"  echoes  the  old  man,  coldly. 
"  Draw  near,  and  place  yourself  beside  Te  Coro." 

"  You  have  discovered  that  this  girl  is  a  powerful 
clairvoyant  ?  " 

"  Yes.  That  discovery  was  simultaneous  with  your 
own,"  answers  De  Roal.  "  Moreover,  I  have  discovered 
that  there  is  affinity,  strong  affinity  between  ye  both. 
Apart,  ye  are  poor  waifs,  tossed  about  by  every  puff  of 
air.  Together  ye  are  strong,  for  there  is  no  strength 
like  two  sensitives  in  combination.  My  son,  I  have 
taught  thee  much,  but  thoti  art  yet  only  in  the  portal  of 
this  strange  knowledge  which  the  blind  ignorance  of  the 
many  term  charlatanry.  Sit  down,  I  say  ;  and  listen." 

Hilton  Fernbrook  obeyed.  Approaching  the  Maori, 
Colonel  de  Roal  passed  his  slender  finger-tips  over  the 
girl's  smooth  forehead  once  or  twice,  and  Te  Coro  sat 
upright.  Except  for  the  eyes,  which  were  wide  open, 
and  had  a  hard  meaningless  stare,  set  and  unwinking 
as  those  of  a  statue,  the  whole  appearance  of  the  face 
was  that  of  one  in  a  sound  sleep.  The  Colonel  seated 
himself  opposite  the  Maori,  and  fixed  his  gaze  upon  the 
staring  eyes  before  him.  He  never  spoke  to  her  once, 
but  it  was  plain  he  held  some  mysterious  control  over 
her  every  word. 

Hilton  Fernbrook  looked  from  one  to  the  other  and 
smiled  in  disdain.  Yet  the  sneer  soon  gave  place  to 
amazement. 

"  This  is  a  wonderful  country  I  see  before  me,"  cried 
the  Maori  girl,  suddenly,  but  with  a  cold  and  measured 
tone  of  voice.  "  Here  are  hills  clothed  with  vines  and 
orange-trees,  and  beyond  these  a  mighty  city,  set  in 
the  midst  of  the  sea.  The  sun  is  shining  upon  its 


134       THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

domes  and  steeples,  and  upon  the  decaying  ruins  of 
huge  palaces.  The  people  in  its  streets  wear  a  strange 
costume,  and  utter  a  language  unknown  to  me.  Ha ! 
amidst  the  motley  crowds  passing  to  and  fro  I  can 
discern  one  or  two  faces  quite  familiar  to  me ;  Mr. 
Warne  and  his  friend  Alton  Lyndhurst  are  there." 

"  Did  not  the  banker  tell  you  that  his  son  was  in 
Venice?"  cried  the  Colonel,  without  removing  his  look 
from  the  Maori.  Hilton  Fernbrook  replied  by  a  nod 
in  the  affirmative. 

"Mark  you  that,  mon  ami.  What  do  these  gay 
butterflies  in  the  city  of  palaces  ?" 

"  Seeking  a  clue,  perchance,  to  Colonel  de  Roal !  " 
responded  his  companion,  with  a  sinister  look. 

"Or  to  Hilton  Fernbrook?"  rejoins  the  Colonel, 
quietly. 

"  Hilton  Fernbrook  is  here,  mon  p$re.  How  can  he 
be  in  Venice  at  the  same  time  ?  " 

"  If  you  have  courage  to  lock  your  hand  within  the 
palm  of  this  Maori,  you  shall  behold  for  yourself," 
cries  the  mesmerist,  in  his  calm  tone, 

"  Courage ! "  echoed  the  younger  man,  scornfully. 
"  See,  I  obey  you  in  sheer  defiance,"  and  at  the  same 
moment  he  took  the  unresisting  hand  of  Te  Coro,  and 
locked  his  fingers  through  hers.  "  Come,  O  great 
magician,  begin  your  juggling." 

The  Maori  shuddered  as  the  strong  palm  of  the 
Master  of  Fernbrook  closed  on  her  own,  but  there  was 
no  perceptible  change  in  her ;  the  large  black  eyes  were 
still  dilated  to  their  utmost  extent,  but  fixed  and  im- 
movable. There  was  a  swift  change,  however,  seen 
in  the  man  at  her  side.  No  sooner  had  he  grasped  the 
tiny  hand  than  his  face  became  colorless.  Huge  beads 
of  perspiration  gathered  thereon,  and  his  muscular 


TRANCE  SHADOWS.  135 

limbs  worked  convulsively  as  one  in  mortal  agony. 
The  Colonel  noted,  these  things,  though  not  for  the  in- 
finitesimal part  of  a  second  did  he  remove  his  look 
from  Te  Coro.  He  saw  the  powerful  frame  beside  her 
writhe  for  some  moments,  then  grow  quiet  and  still  as 
her  own.  There  was  a  deep  silence  for  several  min- 
utes, and  then  the  young  man  called  out  like  one  in  a 
dream, — 

;<  Colonel  de  Roal  ?  " 

"  My  son ! "  answered  the  other,  smilingly. 

"  How  is  it  we  have  returned  again  to  these  old 
haunts  ?  "  cried  the  voice  of  the  trance-seer,  in  earnest 
tones.  "Tell  me  why  we  have  come  back  again  to 
this  accursed  place." 

"  What  place,  mon  garpon  ?  " 

"The  Piazza  San  Marco  at  Venice.  Are  you 
there,  mon  pere  f  I  do  not  see  you,  although  I  hear 
your  voice." 

"  I  am  here.    Are  you  afraid  ?  " 

"Afraid!  No.  But  why  have  you  brought  me 
here?  This  is  the  madhouse,  where  we  imprisoned 
Hilton  Fernbrook.  Sacrt !  What  is  this?  Mes- 
sieurs Warne  and  Lyndhurst,  with  a  third  man,  ask- 
ing for  the  lunatic  whom  you  and  I,  De  Roal,  confined 
long  ago." 

A  low  smothered  imprecation  burst  from  between 
the  thin  compressed  lips  of  the  listener.  With  all  his 
dark  knowledge  of  the  mystic  power  of  Od  Force,  he 
evidently  had  not  expected  such  important  and  un- 
welcome intelligence  as  came  in  broken  gasps  from  the 
man  before  him.  It  was  but  for  an  instant,  and  the 
surprise  vanished,  giving  place  again  to  the  set,  smil- 
ing countenance  of  Colonel  de  Roal.  "  Can  you  hear 
what  these  men  say  ? "  he  asks,  in  his  subdued  voice. 


136        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

"Plainly;  Perez  Andrez,  the  Governor,  tells  them 
that  the  English  patient  whom  they  seek  has  eluded 
the  vigilance  of  his  keepers.  He  has  escaped ! " 

"  Escaped !     How  long  ?  " 

"I  hear  them  say  three  days,"  cries  the  dreamer, 
slowly. 

The  Colonel  seats  himself  and  clasps  his  small  hands 
tightly  together.  He  tries  to  revolve  the  circum- 
stances of  what  he  has  heard  within  his  mind,  but  he 
quickly  discovers  that  the  concentration  weakens  his 
power  over  the  clairvoyant  girl,  who  forms  the  lever 
wherewith  he  moves  the  Master  of  Fernbrook. 

"  Have  they  no  clue  to  the  whereabouts  of  the  mad- 
man ?  "  says  the  mesmerist,  after  a  pause. 

"  None  whatever.  The  trio  depart,  with  disappoint- 
ment. Now  they  separate.  The  third  man  walks 
rapidly  towards  the  Department  of  Police  and  enters." 

"Well?" 

"Now  a  dozen  emissaries  issue  therefrom,  and 
search  the  city.  But  it  is  a  vain  search." 

"  Vain !     How  ?  "  asks  De  Roal,  sharply. 

"  Because  the  cunning  lunatic  is  not  there,  Colonel 
de  Roal." 

The  Colonel  draws  yet  nearer  to  Te  Coro.  Forcing 
all  the  will  in  him  into  the  focus  of  his  eyes,  he  says : 
"  Tell  me  if  you  can  see  the  wretch  whom  these  men 
seek  ?  " 

There  is  a  pause — a  ptyuse  so  solemn  and  quiet  that 
the  waves  without  can  be  heard,  like  the  sound  of 
muffled  drums  beating  the  "  Dead  March  in  Saul." 

"  Speak !  Hilton  Fernbrook." 

"  I  behold  a  huge  steamship  entering  the  Mediter- 
ranean Sea  from  the  Gulf  of  Venice,"  responds  the 
trance  medium.  "  On  the  deck  of  this  vessel  stands 


TRANCE  SHADOWS.  137 

the  escaped  lunatic.  Mon  Dieuf  how  pale  and 
wretched  are  his  every  tone  and  look.  Hist!  he  is 
muttering  your  name,  mon  pere,  and  he  couples  with 
it  that  of  Victor  Mauprat." 

"  What  is  the  name  of  this  ship,  mon  ami  f  " 

"The'Ripon,'  London." 

"  Sauve-qui-peut /"  quoth  Colonel  de  Roal,  as  he 
threw  himself  back  in  his  chair,  completely  nerveless 
and  exhausted  with  his  effort.  He  lies  there,  as  much 
in  a  temporary  stupor  as  those  two  who  have  been  his 
victims. 

Te  Coro  has  fallen  back,  with  closed  eyes,  upon  the 
couch.  The  trance  has  left  her,  and  she  sleeps. 

Released  from  the  clasp  of  the  clairvoyant,  the 
Master  of  Fernbrook  shivers,  sighs,  and,  putting  his 
hands  to  his  throbbing  temples,  rises  and  staggers 
across  the  room  like  a  drunken  man. 

In  upon  the  three  comes  Blake  the  giant,  with  his 
loud  guffaw,  "  Ma  foi,  Messieurs,  you  seem  very 
merry ! " 


138       THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

MAUD    CABLINGTON. 

THE  days  are  gladsome  days  for  Ralph  Warne,  in 
the  beautiful  August  weather  and  in  that  grand  ruined 
old  city  by  the  Adriatic.  With  a  boldness  surprising 
even  to  himself,  the  young  colonist  has  told  Prince  di 
Roumaine  all,  even  to  that  episode  at  the  Bravo's 
Leap.  The  banker  opens  his  eyes  in  wonder,  and 
almost  lifts  his  shoulder-blades  to  the  tips  of  his  ears 
in  one  amazing  shrug ;  but  the  Italian  is  a  man  of  the 
world,  and,  though  proud  of  his  name  and  his  race  as 
any  Spanish  Don  of  the  Alharnbra,  sees  that  his  dar- 
ling might  do  worse  than  marry  this  handsome  milord 
Inglese,  the  son  of  his  New  Zealand  confrere.  • 

At  first  the  Prince  assumes  a  stern  unyielding  front. 
It  is  the  policy  of  his  clique  not  to  give  way  readily. 
Violante  is  very  young;  she  may  change  her  mind 
by-and-by,  he  argues.  Besides,  his  young  guest  may 
find  a  more  suitable  wife  amongst  the  fair  dames  of 
his  own  nation,  and  so  on. 

The  combined  efforts  of  the  lovers,  however,  soon 
storm  the  citadel.  There  is  no  rest  for  the  poor  padre, 
morning,  noon,  or  night,  until,  in  sheer  despair,  he 
cries  peccavi  ! 

It  is  arranged  that  Violante  shall  remain  with  her 
father  one  year  longer.  If  at  the  end  of  that  time  all 
things  are  favorable,  Prince  di  Roumaine  will  journey 


MAUD  CARLINGTON.  139 

with  his  daughter  to  Kew  Zealand,  where  the  pair 
shall  be  married. 

The  betrothed  are  satisfied  with  this  assurance,  and 
the  days  and  weeks  go  swiftly  by  for  them,  in  one 
sweet  noontide  dream  of  happiness. 

In  these  delightful  autumn  days  Alton  Lyndhurst 
set  himself  resolutely  to  work.  The  great  book  that 
is  to  be  his  masterpiece  has  been  advanced  a  stage, 
but  it  has  been  put  aside  for  other  work  just  at  present. 
News  has  come  to  him  from  time  to  time  of  the  many 
changes  that  have  taken  place  in  Maoriland.  A  war 
of  extermination  is  rending  the  colony  asunder.  Men 
are  plentiful,  but  the  Government  coffers  are  empty. 
There  are  no  munitions  of  war,  save  those  raised  by  a 
patriotic  band  consisting  of  some  twenty  persons, 
whose  headquarters  are  situated  in  the  City  of  Auck- 
land. Lady  Blanche  Trevor  and  Yictorine  Gayland 
are  among  the  foremost  personages  in  the  work.  The 
latter  has  taken  to  the  stage.  Nightly,  amid  all  the 
uncertainty  and  terror  reigning  throughout  the  land, 
the  Princess's  Theatre  is  crowded  from  roof  to  doors 
to  hear  Captain  Hargrave's  daughter.  Newspapers 
have  columns  in  praise  of  her  beauty  and  her  talent. 

Musing  over  these  things,  the  novelist  has  woven 
together  a  brisk  comedy  for  the  Princess's,  in  which 
Victorine  Gayland  shall  form  the  centre  of  attraction. 
He  knows  the  kind  of  creation  that  will  fit  her,  for,  in 
the  years  gone  by,  he  has  studied  her  every  tone  and 
gesture.  All  this  blue,  cloudless  autumn  morning,  the 
young  author  has  been  roaming  restlessly  about  the 
old  house  at  Del  Grade,  like  a  perturbed  spirit.  He 
cannot  write — thought  within  him  is  too  fanciful.  To 
muse,  and  dream,  and  weave  airy  images,  without  form 
or  connection,  fits  his  mood.  He  goes  down  to  the 


140        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

green  hollow  behind  the  banker's  villa,  a  dusky  dell, 
in  whose  bottom  lies  a  shining  lake  of  clear  spring 
water,  rush-fringed  and  full  of  deeps  and  shallows 
Standing  upon  the  reedy  margin,  he  begins  to  cast 
stones  therein  and  watch  the  widening  circles. 

"My  friend  has  won  a  noble  wife,"  he  says  to  him- 
self, these  fickle  fancies  of  his  shifting  from  the  phan- 
tasmal world  of  polite  comedy  to  real  life  and  Ralph 
Warne.  "  She  is  just  the  kind  of  girl  for  good  women 
to  admire  and  for  erring  men  to  reverence  and  avoid. 
Tut,  tut !  Alton,  my  man,  there  is  no  danger  for  thee 
here.  Few  men  of  letters  have  ever  mated  with  your 
superior  women.  Perhaps  Shelley  is  the  only  instance, 
and  he  found  his  happiness  by  a  fluke."  He  throws 
another  stone  into  the  lake,  smooth  as  the  most  placid 
mill-pond,  when  a  well-known  voice  breaks  in  on  his 
reverie. 

"  Hallo !  What  ails  the  wanderer  ?  Why  art  thou 
musing  here  alone,  instead  of  preparing  for  the  picnic  ?  " 
It  was  the  voice  of  his  friend,  who  came  languidly 
forward  with  a  mammoth  cheroot  in  his  lips. 

"  It's  infernally  hot,"  replies  Lyndhurst,  peevishly. 
"  I  rather  admire  some  people  who  are  never  content 
except  when  being  baked  or  parboiled.    To-day,  I  have 
no  desire  to  test  how  much  my  anatomy  can  bear  with 
out  being  absolutely  grilled." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  you  are  killing  yourself  with  hard 
work,"  says  the  other,  in  a  more  anxious  tone.  "  I 
have  scarcely  seen  you  for  two  whole  days." 

Lyndhurst  laughs.  "  Find  a  Juliet  for  me,  and  you 
will  not  see  me  at  all." 

Warne  shifts  his  eyeglass  with  a  nervous  twitch. 
"Egad,  I'll  do  that,  if  you'll  only  promise  to  play 
Romeo  in  proper  form,"  he  answered.  "  Do  you  know 


MAUD  CARLJNGTON.  141 

we  are  to  have  most  of  the  notables  in  Venice  at  our 
alfresco  party  ?  Besides,  there  will  be  our  country- 
women, Mrs.  Mason  and  her  three  daughters,  together 
with  the  Carlingtons,  who  only  arrived  from  London 
two  days  ago.  Select  a  Juliet  for  yourself,  and  be 
happy.  Our  departure  hence  is  close  at  hand,"  with 
a  sigh. 

"I  wish  it  was  to-day,  Warne,"  responds  Lynd- 
hurst ;  then,  seeing  a  look  of  pain  on  his  companion's 
face,  he  added  quickly, "  so  far  as  your  humble  servant 
is  concerned.  I  have  received  a  letter  this  morning 
from  our  unhappy  island,  the  contents  of  which  made 
me  long  to  return  at  once.  The  Maoris  have  over- 
come almost  the  whole  of  the  Northern  Island,  and  it 
behoves  every  man  of  us  to  take  up  arms  and  repel 
them.  Dear  Warne,  I  feel  like  a  kicked  cur,  daw- 
dling away  my  time,  instead  of  being  in  the  van  with 
those  who  are  striving  for  the  salvation  of  our  hearths 
and  homes." 

Warne  sighs  again,  lights  a  cigar — his  third  since 
breakfast.  "  Lyndhurst,  if  we  are  not  shipwrecked, 
you  and  I  will  be  at  our  ports  in  little  more  than  a 
month,"  he  responds,  shaking  his  friend's  hand. 

"In  three  days  I  intend  to  be  in  London.  Thence, 
Maoriland  ho !  To-day,  will  you  join  us  ?  " 

"  With  pleasure." 

Alton  Lyndhurst  goes  back  again  to  the  house, 
which  by  this  time  is  beginning  to  fill  with  visitors. 
There  are  voices  speaking  in  Italian  and  English,  and 
laughter,  and  banging  of  doors,  interlarded  with  the 
tones  of  a  grand  piano.  One  of  the  Miss  Masons  is 
hammering  out  Thalberg's  "Last  Rose  of  Summer," 
in  a  manner  which  shows  unmistakably  that  the  young 
lady's  musical  education  is  altogether  of  the  florid 


142        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

school.  Alton  looks  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left, 
but  goes  up  to  his  own  room,  a  large  airy  chamber  at 
the  back  of  the  mansion,  overlooking  the  lake  and  the 
wooded  slopes  that  rise  from  it.  Poor  Violante  has 
vied  with  her  kind-hearted  parent  in  making  the  young 
colonists  comfortable. 

Lyndhurst's  portable  desk,  a  piece  of  furniture  per- 
fect in  its  appliances,  stands  invitingly  open  by  the 
window.  Lyndhurst  seats  himself  thereat,  and  begins 
to  toy  with  an  ivory  paper-knife.  Tired  of  that,  he 
amuses  himself  opening  and  shutting  every  tiny  drawer 
of  the  machine,  until  his  eye  glances  upon  a  photo- 
graph in  a  velvet  frame  lying  in  one  of  them. 

A  woman's  photograph,  naturally,  or  that  thought- 
ful look — half  tenderness,  half  perplexity — would 
hardly  cloud  his  face  as  he  contemplates  it.  A 
woman's  face,  delicately  painted  as  a  miniature  on 
ivory — not  a  common  face,  yet  not  absolutely  beauti- 
ful ;  features  small  and  finely  cut ;  eyes,  darkest  hazel ; 
hair,  auburn,  the  real  auburn — the  rich  red  brown  of 
a  newly-fallen  chestnut,  from  which  the  husk  has  just 
parted.  And  such  hair! — it  falls  over  the  slender 
figure  like  a  mantle,  almost  to  the  knees.  The  woman 
is  dressed  in  some  loose  semi-classic  robe  girdled  at 
the  waist,  high  to  the  throat,  but  sleeveless,  leaving 
the  small  round  arm  bare  to  the  shoulder,  the  tapering 
hand  displayed  to  perfection.  The  photographer  who 
posed  the  lady  for  this  portrait  must  have  been  an 
artist.  Alton  replaces  the  picture  with  a  sigh. 

"  I  ought  to  write  my  level  best  for  her,"  he  says 
to  himself;  "I  can  only  think  of  her  as  Victorine 
Hargrave,  the  daughter  of  my  Shakespeare-loving, 
jolly  old  friend — not  as  the  fine  lady  with  a  huge  for- 
tune and  a  fanciful  whim  for  the  stage.  Heigh-ho ! " 


MAUD  CARLINGTON.  143 

He  turns  over  the  folios  of  a  closely-written  manu- 
script, dips  his  pen  in  the  ink : — 

" '  Enter  Cecil  Ballinscote.'  No  !  The  muse  has 
entirely  abandoned  me  to-day.  Smiling  Thalia  averts 
her  face.  Nothing  but  the  classics  will  suit  Victoriue 
Gayland." 

The  dramatist  drops  his  pen,  and  looks  drearily  out 
of  the  window.  In  the  matter  of  dreaming  his  Pe- 
gasus has  a  free  rein,  and  manages  to  get  over  the 
ground  at  a  brisk  trot  without  the  assistance  of  the 
Muses.  "  Poor  Victorine  ! "  he.  sighs,  at  length.  "  It 
is  useless  attempting  work  to-day ;  Cecil  Ballinscote 
and  the  rest  of  the  dramatis  persona^  of  my  modern 
comedy  are  as  dumb  as  the  Sphinx.  Provoking  rather, 
for  I  thought  I  should  have  dashed  off  my  three  acts 
in  a  week  or  so,  and  posted  it  off  to  the  Princess,  and 
so  have  redeemed  my  promise.  Pshaw  !  Why  prom- 
ise? Why  trouble  myself  at  all  about  her  ladyship 
and  her  freaks  ?  What  is  Mrs.  Gayland  to  me?  " 

It  seems  a  knotty  point  to  answer,  considering  the 
time  he  takes  to  ponder  the  question.  He  thinks  over 
it  as  he  puts  away  his  papers,  and  after  that  little  task 
is  accomplished,  instead  of  going  in  to  luncheon,  he 
lights  a  cigar,  and  saunters  off  into  the  pine-grove,  re- 
flecting as  he  goes :  "  After  all,  I  came  on  this  trip 
purely  for  rest  and  recreation  ;  and  I  don't  see  why  I 
should  worry  myself  into  a  fever  about  a  play  for  Mrs. 
Victorine  Gayland  to  *  star  '  in.  I'll  go  to  the  picnic." 

By  the  time  he  reaches  the  meeting-place  he  finds 
his  friends  have  mustered  for  the  march,  the  ladies  in 
an  alarming  majority. 

"  Ah,  truant ;  you  have  turned  up,"  cries  Baroni,  a 
rising  violinist  and  a  bachelor,  but  with  a  volubility  of 
small  talk  equal  to  six  ordinary  bachelors.  "  Cospetto  I 


144        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

we  thought  you  were  lost  like  one  of  the  babes  in  the 
wood." 

Count  Palquin,  famed  for  three  things — viz.,  head, 
moustache,  and  paunch — is  also  of  the  party,  and  plays 
second  fiddle  to  Baroni  admirably. 

The  party  have  decided  to  walk.  A  spot  among  the 
breezy  hills  of  Santo  Carlo  is  their  destination,  and  they 
have  arranged  to  return  by  moonlight.  The  way  they 
go  is  pleasantly  situated  among  shady  lanes  banked 
on  either  side  with  ferns  and  mosses,  with  pine-trees 
rising  high  on  the  rough  slopes  above  ;  then  past  a 
group  of  mighty  trees,  beneath  which  recline  in  easy 
indolence  a  dozen  or  so  of  stalwart  Bohemians  halting 
for  a  mid-day  rest.  They  have  to  climb  steep  and 
narrow  patches  of  rock,  ford  a  torrent  here  and  there 
which  impediments  are  provocative  of  much  mirth  to 
our  pedestrians.  It  is  long  past  noon  when  they 
ascend  the  wooded  range  of  the  Mount, 

"  Don't  look  round,  any  of  you,  tiil  you  come  to  the 
top,"  cries  Baroni ;  whereupon  everybody  turns  instan- 
taneously, and  there  is  a  simultaneous  gush  of  admira- 
tion from  the  English  party.  Behind  them,  around 
them,  everywhere,  in  the  sunny  distance  rise  the  hills, 
dark,  and  brown,  and  barren,  painted  against  the  light 
and  the  deep  blue  sky. 

"  How  lovely !  "  exclaim  all. 

"  You  ought  to  have  waited  till  you  got  to  the  brow 
of  the  hill,"  says  the  volatile  Baroni,  vexed  that  the 
coup  d'ceil  should  be  lost. 

They  halt  on  the  crest  of  San  Carlo,  and  look  back. 
The  panorama  is  a  little  wider  here ;  they  see  deeper 
into  the  wooded  ranges,  and  the  valley  where  the  broad 
Del  Pondo  winds  like  a  long  silver  serpent.  They  gaze 
out  at  the  white  dots,  forming  the  homesteads  of  the 


MAUD  CARLINGTON.  145 

vine-growers,  scattered  far  apart  among  the  hills,  and 
beyond  these,  to  the  wide  blue  sea — still,  calm,  and 
glittering  like  a  vast  sapphire  in  the  distance.  For  a 
moment  all  of  them  are  as  ardent  worshippers  of  Nature 
as  Wordsworth  himself.  But  the  air  blows  fresh  on 
these  green  heights,  and  hunger  begins  to  assert  its 
sway  in  such  a  manner  that  there  is  a  unanimous  call 
to  dinner. 

The  meal  is  soon  spread  in  a  shady  nook  with  a  tiny 
cascade  of  clear  water  close  by  for  making  tea.  Cold 
meats,  fancy  bread,  strawberries,  and  peaches  are  fully 
appreciated  after  that  long  walk.  The  ladies  consume 
orange  pekoe  in  an  alarming  manner,  considering  the 
paucity  of  tea-cups  available. 

"  It's  very  odd,"  says  Alton  Lyndhurst,  gazing  out 
at  the  undulating  landscape  before  him,  "  that  men 
can  turn  their  backs  upon  Nature,  and  shut  themselves 
in  houses  like  packing-cases,  breathing  sewer-gas  and 
such-like  poisons,  when  they  might  have  here  the 
essence  of  vigorous  health." 

"  Pooh !  my  dear  friend,"  responds  Count  Palquin. 
"  The  Italians  are  gregarious  animals,  one  and  all. 
Nothing  so  attractive  to  us  as  the  crowd  ;  and, 
no  doubt,  that  is  a  curious  indication  of  how  small  a 
world  we  possess  within  ourselves.  Such  men  as  Dante 
could  afford  to  inhabit  solitudes.  He  had  his  world 
within." 

"  You  speak,  sir,  as  if  thoughts  and  fancies  were 
better  company  than  men  and  women,"  says  Warne, 
quietly. 

"  Per  bacco  !    Not  I.     I  love  this  scene  as  a  picture, 

but  I  doubt  my  capacity  for  being  out  of  the  thronged 

city,"  replied  the  Count.     "  The  press  and  conflict  of 

life  is  necessary  to  my  being.    I  admire  the  country ; 

10 


146        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

but  its  beauty  and  its  tender  tranquillity  would  be  the 
death  of  me." 

"  Oh,  we  will  consider  this  an  enchanted  isle,  with 
Count  Palquin  for  our  Caliban,"  whispers  Baroni  to 
Edith  Mason,  which  remark  sends  that  young  lady 
into  a  fit  of  laughter  just  as  she  is  about  to  sip  her  tea. 

They  are  very  merry  over  their  gypsy  repast.  When 
it  is  ended,  the  party  begin  to  wander  away  in  twos 
and  threes. 

"  Now  remember,  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  shouted  the 
banker,  "  we  all  meet  at  this  spot  at  eight  o'clock.  We 
shall  have  a  full  moon  to  accompany  us  home." 

"  Delightful ! "  It  seems  as  if  the  Prince  had  ar- 
ranged for  the  moon  beforehand. 

Alton  Lyndhurst  and  Maud  Carlington  wander  away 
adown  the  bed  of  the  cascade,  where  clusters  of  white 
Florentine  lilies  border  its  course  like  fairy  sentinels. 
There  is  a  soft  musical  ripple  in  the  air,  like  the  fall  of 
many  fountains  ;  overhead,  the  myrtle  stands  out  green 
and  fragrant,  and  from  it  comes  the  vesper-song  of 
many  birds.  The  novelist  has  remained  by  the  side 
of  the  young  lady  during  the  whole  walk,  and  has 
played  Romeo  like  a  man  who  has  a  part  quite  unsuited 
to  him.  He  has  carried  on  a  fusillade  of  small  talk  with- 
out even  so  much  as  casting  a  glance  at  her,  to  satisfy 
himself  whether  she  is  fair  or  dark,  tall  or  short. 
When  he  does  look  at  her,  he  is  surprised  at  the  won- 
drous charm  and  beauty  of  her  person. 

To  a  man  of  Lyndhurt's  enthusiastic  yearning  for 
the  beautiful,  a  handsome  woman  had  its  attraction  ; 
but  his  admiration  went  no  farther  than  the  mere 
gratification  which  beauty  gives  to  the  eye  of  an  artist. 
In  Maud  Carlington,  however,  he  found  himself  face  to 
face  with  something  loftier  and  nobler  than  simple 


MAUD  CARLINGTON.  147 

beauty.  To  one  who  imagined  he  had  turned  the  world 
inside  out  like  an  old  glove,  and  found  nothing  of  fresh- 
ness or  innocence  in  it  for  him,  the  sight  of  this  fair, 
pure,  girlish  face,  looking  up  at  him  in  guileless  enjoy- 
ment made  him  draw  a  deep  breath  of  gladness,  as 
if  he  felt  himself  in  a  purer  atmosphere  than  the  air 
of  his  everyday  existence.  The  complexion  is  not  fair, 
but  has  that  fresh  bloom  which  comes  of  an  open-air 
life ;  the  eyes  are  darkest  gray — so  dark  that,  till  they 
turn  and  meet  his  own,  Alton  thinks  them  black ;  the 
hair  is  likewise  brown  and  superabundant,  for  the  thick 
plaits  coiled  closely  at  the  back  of  the  head  are  inno- 
cent of  padding.  A  franker,  fairer  face  never  smiled 
upon  mankind.  No  dangerous  fascination  here — noth- 
ing of  the  siren  or  the  coquette  in  this  young  English 
maiden — no  "  history  "  in  her  glad  young  life.  The 
novelist  has  plenty  of  time  to  study  the  face  of  his  com- 
panion, as  they  wend  their  way  over  the  heights  of  San 
Carlo.  As  a  weaver  of  romance,  he  is  naturally  a  stu- 
dent of  humanity.  He  looks  at  the  young  lady  thought- 
fully, almost  reverently.  To  his  fancy,  she  seems  the 
very  spirit  of  rustic  innocence — not  the  innocence  of 
the  milkmaid  or  shepherdess,  but  of  a  damsel  of  lofty 
race,  simple  as  Perdita,  high-bred  as  Rosalind. 

She  is  certainly  beautiful,  more  absolutely  beautiful 
than  he  had  at  first  thought  her.  The  dark  rich  hair, 
which  waves  a  little  at  the  temples,  the  pencilled  eye- 
brow, the  noble  modelling  of  the  mouth  and  chin, 
might  satisfy  the  most  exacting  critic.  There  is  mind 
in  that  fair  young  face. 

"I  was  so  pleased  to  hear  from  Mr.  Warne  that  you 
are  the  Mr.  Lyndhurst,"  she  says  somewhat  slowly, 
"the  author  whose  books  have  given  us  so  much 
pleasure." 


148        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

The  novelist  pauses,  surprise  depicted  on  every 
feature  of  his  face.  "  I  was  not  aware  that  my  poor 
effusions  had  travelled  so  far,"  he  responds  quietly ; 
"lam  proud  to  think  that  our  antipodean  ideas  are 
deemed  worthy  of  perusal,  however." 

"  Fame,  like  truth,  will  make  its  way,"  she  answered 
gayly.  "  By  the  way,  do  you  know  a  certain  Colonel 
Langrove  of  Mount  Tapea  ?  " 

"  Know  him !  The  Colonel  is  one  of  my  most  in- 
timate friends,"  cries  he. 

"  He  is  my  uncle,"  replies  Maud  Carlington.  "  For 
some  years  we  have  had  our  regular  monthly  mail 
from  the  Mount." 

"With  all  its  New  Zealand  gossip,  newspapers, 
magazines,  et-cetera,"  interrupted  Alton,  laughing. 

"  Truly  so.  Mamma,  who  is  a  tremendous  reader, 
devours  a  box  full  of  literature  every  mail.  I  know 
she  is  not  fond  of  novels  generally,  but  she  read  your 
'  Ferndale  Holme '  twice  over,  and  was  so  delighted 
with  it  that  I — being  a  woman,  and  having  a  woman's 
ruling  vice,  curiosity — must  needs  peruse  it  as  a  matter 
of  course." 

"  Ah,  if  vanity  had  sway  with  me,  I  should  be  tempted 
to  say  that  the  prevailing  malady  of  women  had  smit- 
ten me,  Miss  Carlington,"  he  answered,  banteringly. 
"  Men  are  always  curious  to  know — I  mean  especially 
literary  men — what  reception  the  airy  creations  of 
their  brains  may  have  at  the  hands  of  those  who  read 
and  attempt  to  anatomize  them." 

She  turns  a  shy  upward  glance  at  him,  half-serious, 
half-arch. 

"  I  cannot  lay  claim  to  any  subtle  dissection  in  the 
matter  of  fiction,"  she  says  quietly.  "  Your  story  is 
not  like  the  majority  of  books  I  have  read." 


MAUD  CARLINGTON.  149 

"  Why,  pray  ?  " 

"  Because  the  characters  appear  so  real  and  life-like. 
Men  and  women  who  have  suffered  and  sinned,  and 
the  tales  of  sinning  and  suffering,  with  brief  gleams  of 
sunshine,  are  so  vivid,  that  when  you  have  reached  the 
end  of  all  you  lay  down  the  book,  and  wonder  whether 
this  can  be  purely  fiction." 

Alton  Lyndhurst  opens  wide  his  eyes  in  astonish- 
ment. Were  it  not  for  the  glad,  girlish  expression  on 
her  fresh  young  face,  he  would  accept  her  words  as 
the  grossest  flattery.  "I  did  not  know  that  young 
ladies  of  the  present  day — with  their  schools,  their 
village  poor,  their  housekeeping,  gardening,  church- 
going,  operas,  and  what  not,  had  time  to  study  modern 
romance,"  he  answers,  after  a  pause. 

"Perhaps  it  is  because  of  one's  numerous  duties 
that  a  quiet  hour's  reading  is  all  the  more  enjoyable," 
she  responds. 

"  Ah  !  Miss  Carlington,  you  live  only  to  do  good  to 
others.  My  ambition  is  but  to  win  a  shred  of  fame 
for  myself.  How  sorry  a  business  mine  is  in  compar- 
ison," he  says,  with  a  profound  sigh. 

No  surer,  straighter  way  to  a  woman's  heart  than 
self -depreciation.  Maud  Carlington  turns  a  look  at 
his  thoughtful  face.  From  that  moment  she  is  inter- 
ested in  him. 

"  Fame  has  been,  and  ever  will  be,  the  noblest  ambi- 
tion of  man,"  she  responds,  with  just  the  faintest  tinge 
of  a  blush  rising  to  her  face.  "Who  can  be  great 
amongst  the  mass,  save  those  who  have  aspired  to 
fame?" 

"  True ;  yet  there  is  no  higher  name  than  Grace 
Darling's  among  English  women.  That  lady  owes 
her  renown  to  heroic  acts,  not  to  genius.  Come,"  said 


150        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

he,  with  a  bitter  laugh,  "  you  were  praising  my  book 
just  now.  Would  you  like  to  have  written  it  ?" 

"  Nay  !  "  she  answers,  raising  her  candid  eyes  to  his. 
"  To  have  written  such  a  book,  I  must  have  suffered — 
must  have  know  the  agony  and  the  throes  of  some 
great  sorrow.  Providence  has  given  me  a  happy  life, 
among  good  people.  I  would  not  have  your  genius,  at 
the  cost  of  your  experience." 

Alton  Lyndhurst  laughs  outright.  "  To  be  a  good 
delineator  of  human  nature,  one  must  know  the  worst 
side  of  it  ?  "  he  asks  evasively. 

"  A  painter  must  first  receive  the  impression  of  his 
picture,  ere  his  brush  translate  it  on  the  canvas.  It  is 
the  same  in  letters  as  in  art,"  she  answers. 

"  Then,  you  do  leave  a  margin  for  the  imagination  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  but  I  ever  bear  in  mind  the  old  adage  that 
*  Truth  is  stranger  than  fiction.'  Your  work  of  pure 
imagery  is  as  a  body  without  a  soul — a  lamp  without 
light." 

"  I  am  amazed,  Miss  Carlington,"  he  says,  with  a 
smile.  "Do  you  believe  Tennyson  really  felt  the 
terrible  depths  of  sorrow  depicted  in  his  weird  'In 
Memoriam '  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  "  she  asks,  with  a  frank  look  upon  her 
face.  "  Who  shall  measure  the  petulant  grief ,  even  of 
a  child  ?  The  reason  why  I  love  to  read  Tennyson  is 
because  I  feel  better  and  braver  after  it,  for  he  raises 
the  whole  tone  of  one's  being.  I  believe  the  greatest 
aid  to  his  genius  must  have  been  his  sympathetic  suffer- 
ing with  mankind." 

Alton  sighs  and  is  silent.  In  abstracted  mood  he 
follows  his  fair  companion  wherever  she  may  lead. 
They  go  slowly  downward  into  a  verdant  hollow,  where 
the  ruins  of  an  old  temple,  darkened  with  lichens  and 


MAUD  C ARLINGTON.  151 

mosses  and  ferns,  hides  its  mouldering  stones.  By  the 
ruined  column  they  cross  a  rustic  bridge  and  stray 
along  the  banks  of  a  water-course,  yellow  with  rushes, 
water-lilies,  and  a  profusion  of  forget-ine-uots. 

Here  they  talk  of  many  things — of  books,  pictures, 
eminent  men,  beautiful  women,  and  lastly,  of  Maud 
Carlington  herself.  She  is  an  only  child,  the  last  of  a 
race  who  own  Heath  Grange,  an  old  place  away  in 
the  West  Riding  of  Yorkshire,  half  monastery,  half 
castle.  The  great  Gothic  pile  is  like  a  royal  palace 
shut  in  by  dense  forest  lands,  which  shelter  in  their 
recesses  the  dun  deer  and  the  gray  heron  by  its  pools. 
Around  its  ancient  walls  the  rents  made  by  the  petro- 
nels  of  the  Ironsides  are  still  visible.  Before  the 
Plantagenets  the  Carlingtons  of  Heath  Grange  held 
high  office  in  the  State.  In  those  olden  days  the 
Grange  had  borne  the  storm  and  basked  in  the  sun- 
shine of  the  ever- revolving  wheel  of  Fortune.  High 
nobles  had  made  it  the  audience  hall  for  kings.  One 
of  its  rooms  had  held  the  captive  queen,  Mary  Stuart. 
It  had  been  the  favorite  haunt  of  Court  beauties, 
where  they  had  read  and  laughed  over  the  last  bon-mot 
of  my  Lord  Rochester. 

The  late  descendant  of  the  Norman  family,  Cecil 
Carlington,  was  a  colonel  of  the  Lancers,  and  the  best 
swordsman  in  the  British  Army ;  he  perished  in  Scinde 
at  the  head  of  his  regiment,  while  Maud  was  only  an 
infant  in  long  clothes. 

The  old  Grange  had  been  deeply  mortgaged  before 
Colonel  Carlington's  time,  and  was  now  about  to  pass 
away  forever  into  the  hands  of  strangers. 

"  And  the  old  place  will  see  you  no  more?  "  says  the 
novelist. 

"  No  more !  "  echoes  the  girl,  with  a  far-off  look  in 


152        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

her  dark  eyes.  "  From  henceforth  New  Zealand  is  to 
be  our  home.  My  mother  has  given  a  promise  to  join 
her  brother  at  Mount  Tapea." 

"  Do  you  go  at  once  ?  "  asks  Alton. 

"  Not  yet ;  my  uncle  will  join  us  at  Naples.  We  are 
journeying  there  to  await  him,"  she  replies. 

They  are  interrupted  by  another  bevy  of  the  party, 
who  join  them,  and  the  whole  party  made  their  way 
to  the  place  appointed  as  the  rendezvous.  By  the 
time  they  have  had  another  refresher  of  tea  it  is  quite 
dark,  but  up  comes  the  round  full  moon,  as  the  Prince 
had  foretold,  to  light  them  home.  The  walk  is  delight- 
ful !  The  old  gables  of  Del  Grade  appear  in  view  much 
too  soon  for  some  of  them. 

"  Good-night,  Mr.  Lyndhurst." 

"  Good-night,  Miss  Carlington." 

Lyndhurst  is  tired,  but  he  does  not  retire  to  rest. 
The  morning  found  him  musing— pondering  still. 

He  will  see  her  again — Maud  of  the  rose  garden— 
with  her  clear-cut  face,  not  proud,  but  sweet.  He  can 
fancy  such  a  face  growing  hardened  with  pride — grow- 
ing fixed  as  marble,  were  her  mind  outraged,  the 
strong  sense  of  right  assailed,  or  the  contempt  for 
meanness  once  aroused  within  her.  He  has  been  with 
her  but  half  a  dozen  short  hours — nay,  not  so  much. 
Yet  the  knowledge  of  her  character  has  entered  into 
his  inmost  heart,  to  be  there  rooted  as  if  he  had  known 
her  all  his  life. 


AT  LAST.  153 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

AT   LAST. 

PETER  DUSK,  the  detective,  sat  in  his  room  overlook- 
ing the  Grand  Canal,  and  smoked  until  he  had  en- 
veloped himself  as  in  a  thick  mist.  It  was  his  invari- 
able practice  to  smoke  furiously  while  working  out 
any  mental  problem.  It  must  have  been  a  knotty 
point  at  issue,  for  though  it  was  early  morning  he  had 
consumed  several  manillas  over  the  subject — and  that 
subject  was  none  other  than  the  escape  of  a  madman 
from  the  asylum  of  a  private  madhouse  in  this  city. 
By  that  queer  method,  known  best  to  his  class,  of 
tracking  crime  and  its  perpetrators  through  their 
manifold  labyrinth,  Peter  Dusk  had  found  his  man, 
only  to  lose  him  the  next  day. 

It  seemed  strange  indeed  that  Fernbook,  Mauprat, 
or  whatever  name  the  Master  of  the  Barrier  Rock  was 
known  by,  should  be  discovered  in  a  madhouse  in 
Venice.  But  so  it  was.  The  detective  had  given  no 
explanation  as  to  how  he  gained  the  clue  that  led  his 
steps  to  the  asylum.  It  was  sufficient  for  him  that 
one  of  the  lunatics  therein  was  the  person  he  had  tracked 
half  round  the  known  globe.  There  was  no  mistaking 
the  original  of  the  photograph,  which  had  guided  the 
officer  all  through  the  long,  patient  search ;  the  simplest 
noodle  would  have  recognized  the  likeness  in  an  instant. 
The  poor  imbecile,  with  his  great  black  eyes  ablaze, 


154        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

pleaded  hard  with  his  countryman  to  set  him  free,  but 
Dusk  only  shook  his  head  in  affected  pity. 

Once  without  the  walls  of  the  asylum,  Dusk  hugged 
himself  in  momentary  triumph.  At  last  he  had  run 
his  man  to  earth — had  him  safe  under  lock  and  key. 
To-morrow  his  employers  should  see  Fernbrook  for 
themselves. 

They  went  on  the  morrow  ;  Warne,  Lyndhurst,  and 
the  smiling  limb  of  the  law.  But  he  they  went  to  see 
had  gone — escaped,  and  had  not  left  the  ghost  of  a  clue 
behind  him. 

The  sceptical  novelist  laughed  at  the  whole  affair. 
"  I'm  afraid  you've  been  working  too  hard  in  this  case, 
my  friend,"  he  said  in  a  kind  way  to  the  crestfallen 
runner  from  Scotland  Yard.  "I  cannot  but  admire 
the  tact  and  skill  displayed  by  you  in  tracing  the  do- 
ings of  Fernbrook  and  his  friends,  but  when  you  affirm 
that  he  is  here  in  a  lunatic  retreat  in  Venice,  I  beg  to 
differ  with  you.  Unless  Hilton  Fernbrook  has  the 
power  of  Asmodeus  at  his  back,  and  can  transfer  him- 
self from  one  hemisphere  to  another  with  the  speed  of 
thought,  I  cannot  see  how  it  is  possible  he  can  be  in 
this  city.  Besides,  did  not  the  proprietor  of  the  estab- 
lishment say  that  this  same  lunatic  had  been  confined 
there  for  over  three  years?  How  can  you  reconcile 
that  statement  with  your  conclusion  that  this  poor 
wretch  is  the  owner  of  the  Barrier  domain !  " 

Peter  Dusk  disdained  to  argue,  but  he  ransacked  the 
whole  city  of  the  Doges  from  St.  Mark  to  El  Perdo  for 
the  escapee.  It  was  of  no  avail ;  there  was  no  more 
trace  of  him  than  if  the  earth  had  gaped  and  swallowed 
him  in  the  abyss. 

When  all  the  questioning  and  searching  was  ended, 
Peter  Dusk  had  gone  over  to  Del  Grade  for  further 


AT  LAST.  155 

orders  ;  but  Warne  and  his  companion  had  departed 
for  London. 

So  the  detective  smoked  and  reflected,  and  the  more 
he  smoked  and  cogitated  the  more  puzzled  he  became 
over  the  whole  affair.  "  That  Mr.  Lyndhurst  was  per- 
haps right,  after  all,"  he  muttered,  apostrophizing  the 
table.  "  I  don't  see  how  a  man  can  possibly  be  in  two 
places  at  the  same  time.  They  say  this  Hilton  Fern- 
brook  is  still  hi  New  Zealand — was  at  the  Opera,  only 
a  matter  of  six  weeks  ago.  How,  then,  can  the  man 
whom  I  saw  in  the  madhouse  be  he  ?  Yet,  if  this  is  not 
a  striking  likeness  of  the  man  I  was  sent  after,  I'm 
blowed !  I'll  swear  the  escaped  lunatic  is  either  the 
devil,  or  the  convict  Mauprat.  Humph!  Let  me 
think ! " 

There  was  no  one  to  hinder  him  thinking  out  the 
question  in  all  its  subtle  bearings,  and  it  took  him  some 
time  ere  he  was  weary  of  it.  The  little  marble  clock 
chiming  noon  roused  him. 

"  Ah,  well,  I  can't  see  my  way  now,"  he  resumed  in 
that  quaint  fashion  of  talking  to  himself.  "  I'll  not 
give  in,  though,  not  I.  If  that  madman  be  alive  and 
above  ground,  I'll  find  him — though  I  don't  believe  he's 
a  bit  mad.  A  crazy  fellow  would  not  have  acted  nor 
spoken  as  he  did.  It's  no  use  staying  here.  The  fellow 
is  an  Englishman,  and  he'll  make  for  London  ;  all  sorts 
and  conditions  of  men  hide  themselves  either  there  or 
in  Paris.  If  he  goes  to  one  or  the  other,  I'm  certain  to 
hunt  him  out.  I'll  pack  up  and  be  off,  and  try  London 
first." 

It  does  not  take  him  long  to  put  his  decision  into 
execution.  A  steamer  is  found  ready  for  sailing,  and 
Peter  Dusk  takes  a  passage  in  her.  It  is  a  cold,  windy 
evening  that  finds  him  on  the  pavement  of  the  Strand. 


156        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

Instead  of  wending  his  way  to  the  office  in  the  Mino- 
ries,  the  detective  goes  to  his  lodgings  on  Ludgate 
Hill,  and  comes  forth  again  within  the  hour,  quite  trans- 
formed in  outward  appearance.  Calling  a  cab,  he 
drives  back  to  the  Strand.  "If  this  man  is  in  London, 
he'll  have  a  peep  at  the  theatre,"  he  says  to  himself. 
"  Rogues  or  lunatics,  it's  all  the  same.  As  soon  as 
they're  let  out  of  the  cage,  they  are  drawn  to  the  play- 
house, as  if  by  magic.  I'll  begin  with  the  theatres." 

Dismissing  the  cab,  he  enters  the  doors  of  the  Adel- 
phi  and  paying  his  shilling,  ascends  to  the  gallery, 
where  he  can  see  almost  every  person  in  the  house. 
A  few  minutes  suffice  to  convince  him  that  the  escaped 
madman  is  not  amongst  the  audience  there. 

From  the  Adelphi,  Dusk  goes  to  Drury  Lane.  In- 
stead of  mounting  to  the  gallery,  he  takes  a  seat  in  the 
dress  circle,  and  looks  round  at  the  vast  sea  of  heads 
and  faces  crowding  the  place.  Away  out  yonder,  near 
the  stage,  in  the  pit,  the  detective  suddenly  sees  the 
man  he  is  looking  for.  There  is  no  mistaking  that 
proud,  dark,  Spanish-like  face,  with  the  short  cropped 
black  hair  and  moustache.  The  man  is  leaning  indo- 
lently against  the  stage-box,  yet  deeply  intent  upon  the 
performance,  and  is  dressed  in  a  suit  of  sober  tweed. 

Before  the  scene  is  concluded,  Peter  Dusk  has  taken 
a  seat  beside  the  man  in  the  pit,  and  has  satisfied  him- 
self beyond  the  smallest  shadow  of  a  doubt  that  he  is 
the  escapee  from  Venice. 

"  Fine  play,  my  friend ! " 

The  man  turns  and  looks  the  speaker  full  in  the  face. 
"  It  is  a  grand  performance,"  he  responds  slowly  and 
in  a  rich  manly  voice,  that  had  a  tone  of  melancholy  in 
it;  "but  it  is  badly  mounted.  In  France  they  attend 
to  those  things  more  so  than  in  England." 


AT  LAST.  157 

"  You  are  not  a  Frenchman,  sir  ?  " 

"No,"  replied  the  stranger,  smiling;  "nor  yet  an 
Englishman.  I  may  say  that  I  am  a  cosmopolitan, 
having  '  travelled  some,'  as  they  say  in  America." 

"  Are  you  an  American  ?  " 

"  You  are  curious,  my  friend,"  said  the  other,  good- 
humoredly.  "  In  France,  and  even  in  the  United  States, 
they  have  a  rule  in  society  called  etiquette,  which 
means  that  rude  questions  are  deserving  of  rude  an- 
swers. If  you  are  inclined  to  learn  my  nationality,  I 
may  tell  you  that  I  have  none.  I  repeat,  I  am  a  cos- 
mopolitan." 

"  Beg  pardon,"  said  the  detective,  hastily.  "  It  struck 
me  I  had  seen  you  before  somewhere." 

"  You  were  a  stricken  deer,  my  friend,  for  thinking 
so ;  we  cannot  possibly  have  met  before." 

"  I  think  we  have,"  cried  the  detective. 

There  was  a  swift  flash  in  the  black  eyes,  as  they 
turned  with  sudden  and  suspicious  look  to  the  face  of 
the  speaker.  "  Indeed !  Where  ?  "  he  asked  quickly. 

"  Have  you  courage  to  accompany  me  to  the  vesti- 
bule, and  I  will  tell  you  ?  " 

"  Why  not  tell  me  here  ? "  replied  the  other,  with 
some  disdain. 

"  I  have  a  reason,  which  I  will  give  you  also,  if  you 
will  adjourn  with  me." 

"  Pray  lead  the  way ;  I  am  at  your  service." 

Not  another  word  was  spoken,  until  the  pair  reached 
a  small  room  adjoining  the  saloon  bar.  "  Now,  sir," 
said  the  stranger,  seating  himself,  "tell  me  where  you 
and  I  have  met." 

"At  the  Del  Madilino,  in  the  city  of  Venice,"  said 
Dusk. 

If  a  pistol  bullet  had  gone  through  the  body  of  the 


158        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

man  then  and  there,  he  could  not  have  evinced  greater 
surprise.  He  stared  at  the  detective  in  blank  amaze- 
ment for  fully  a  minute.  "Pray,  who  are  you?"  he 
said  at  length. 

"  I  may  answer  after  your  fashion,  and  reply,  I'm  a 
cosmopolitan." 

"You  saw  me  in  a  madhouse  in  Venice?"  asked  the 
other,  in  a  vacant  way. 

"  Yes,  the  Del  Madilino,  a  private  asylum  governed 
by  one  Dr.  Nicolini." 

The  other  made  no  reply,  but  gripped  the  back  of  his 
chair  with  a  convulsive  clutch. 

"It  is  not  many  days  since  I  was  in  Venice  on  busi- 
ness. I  had  occasion  to  visit  Dr.  Nicolini's  establish- 
ment. I  saw  you  there." 

"  I  remember  you  now,"  responded  the  other,  after 
a  pause  in  which  he  had  recovered  from  his  surprise. 
"  You  have  disguised  yourself,  but  I  recognize  your 
voice." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,"  said  the  detective,  coolly.  "  Now 
tell  me  how  you  escaped  from  the  asylum." 

The  man  laughed.  "  Still  inquisitive  !  "  he  said,  with 
mild  irony  in  his  tone.  "  Are  you  interested,  my 
friend?" 

"  Perhaps." 

"  Well,  the  story  is  too  long,  and  I'm  not  in  the 
humor  to  talk  much." 

"  How  if  I  land  you  in  jail,  and  send  you  back  again 
to  Venice  ?  " 

"My  good  sir,  you  are  evidently  in  a  fog  respecting 
the  law  of  England  concerning  lunatics,"  answered  the 
stranger,  with  a  smile.  "  First,  you  will  have  to  prove 
that  I  am  insane;  secondly,  that  I  escaped  from  a  mad- 
house." 


AT  LAST.  159 

"  Did  you  not  escape  ?  " 

"  That  is  another  question,  my  friend." 

Peter  Dusk  reflected  a  moment.  He  felt  that  he 
had  no  lunatic  to  deal  with  in  the  person  of  the  stranger. 
"  What  if  I  send  for  Dr.  Nicolini  and  prove  your  iden- 
tity ? "  said  the  detective. 

"  The  doctor  cannot  prove  my  identity.  Besides,  he 
dare  not  set  foot  in  London." 

«  Dare  not  ?  " 

"  I  repeat — dare  not ! " 

"  Why,  pray  ?  "  inquired  Dusk. 

"  My  friend,  questions  seem  to  be  your  forte,  but  I 
am  not  inclined  to  answer  them.  If  you  have  any 
business  with  me,  pray  come  to  it  at  once,  for  I  wish  to 
see  the  play  out." 

"  Do  not  be  in  a  hurry,"  said  Dusk,  placing  his  back 
to  the  door.  "  Do  you  know  who  I  am  ?  " 

"  No  ;  nor  do  I  care." 

"  I  am  Dusk,  from  Scotland  Yard." 

"Indeed!  and  pray,  Mr.  Dusk,  what  is  that  to 
me?" 

"  Do  you  know  this  photograph  ?"  replied  the  other, 
handing  him  a  carte-de-visite  portrait. 

The  stranger  looked  at  it,  holding  it  to  the  light. 

Peter  Dusk  watched  his  face  as  a  cat  watches  its 
prey.  "  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it  ?  "  he  said. 

"  It  is  certainly  my  photo,"  answered  the  stranger, 
gravely.  "  The  back  of  the  card  is  marked  Paris.  I 
never  had  my  likeness  taken  in  Paris." 

"  It  may  be  a  copy  from  London,"  suggested  Dusk. 

"  Nay ;  I  have  had  no  photograph  taken  in  Europe 
at  all." 

"  Here  is  another  of  the  same  personage,"  quoth  the 
detective,  producing  a  second  picture.  "  You  see,  that 


160        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

was  taken  at  Portland  Prison.  Perhaps  you  never  saw 
the  convict  establishment  ?  " 

"  Never,  upon  my  honor,"  answered  the  man,  with  a 
gay  laugh. 

"  Of  course  you  haven't ! "  sneered  Dusk.  "  Such  a 
name  as  Victor  Mauprat,  for  instance,  has  never  been 
on  your  visiting-card.  You  have  never  heard  of  Sharpe, 
alias  the  Ferret.  Nor  do  you  know  anything  of  Captain 
Vipont,  or  the  Salon  des  Dames  at  Nice.  Oh,  dear, 
no!" 

Again  the  man  stared  at  the  officer  with  a  perplexed 
look.  "  I  think,  my  friend,  it  is  you  who  have  broken 
out  of  some  lunatic  asylum  in  the  vicinity,  if  one  may 
form  an  opinion  by  what  you  say.  It  is  the  particular 
craze  of  the  lunatic  to  dub  the  remainder  of  the  world 
insane." 

"  Your  cunning  rejoinder  will  not  serve  you,"  replied 
the  detective.  "  You  are  Victor  Mauprat,  swindler  and 
convict,  who  escaped  from  Portland  Prison  two  years 
ago." 

"  You  are  certainly  mad,  my  man ;  there  is  no  mis- 
take about  it,"  muttered  the  stranger,  at  the  same  time 
keeping  his  gaze  fixed  on  that  of  his  companion.  "  Poor 
devil !  it  would  be  a  pity  to  harm  him.  I  might  have 
guessed  it,  after  all  my  terrible  experiences  in  that  living 
hell  in  Venice.  Look  here,"  he  cried  aloud  to  Dusk, 
"  ring  the  bell  and  let  us  have  a  bottle  of  wine." 

"  Don't  try  to  gammon  me,"  said  the  detective,  with  a 
fierce  oath.  "  I'm  Peter  Dusk,  and  I  mean  to  arrest 
you,  Victor  Mauprat." 

"  Are  you  serious  ?  " 

"  Certainly !  I  haven't  followed  you  half  over  the 
continent  of  Europe  and  through  Egypt  to  let  you  slip 
out  of  my  hands  now." 


"  The  stranger  sat  down  and   pressed  his-  hands  tightly  over 
his  face  for  the  space  of  a  minute." 

— Pao-e  161. 


AT  LAST.  161 

"I  swear  to  you  that  I  never  heard  the  name  of 
Victor  Mauprat  in  my  life  till  this  moment,"  cried 
the  other,  with  such  earnest  emphasis  that  the  officer 
paused  irresolute. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you're  not  the  man 
who  kept  the  gaming-hell  at  Cairo  ?  "  he  said. 

«'  No." 

"Nor  the  monte  table  at  Nice?" 

"  No,  I  say !  Why  do  you  accuse  me  of  these 
things  ?  " 

"  You  are  a  study,  my  fine  fellow,"  responded  the 
detective,  with  gentle  sarcasm.  "  It  won't  do  with  me, 
let  me  tell  you.  I've  seen  too  many  of  your  sort  in  my 
time.  Answer  me  one  thing:  where  did  you  get  to 
when  you  and  Sharpe  burnt  the  '  Seagull '  ?  " 

" '  The  '  Seagull ' ! "  cried  the  other,  looking  at  his 
inveterate  questioner  with  a  vague  idea  as  to  his  sanity 
depicted  on  every  feature  of  his  pale,  handsome  face. 
"  Are  you  really  crazy,  after  all  ?  " 

"  You'll  find  that  out  presently ! "  responded  Dusk, 
with  a  grim  smile.  "  I  ask  you  again :  how  many  of 
the  jail-birds  escaped  the  burning  wreck  besides  the 
Ferret  and  yourself  ?  " 

"  Who's  the  Ferret,  pray  ?  " 

"  Your  sham  valet,  and  the  biggest  rogue  in  Europe," 
said  Dusk,  with  a  sigh  of  impatience.  "  Come,  sir,  you 
can  gain  no  purpose  by  playing  innocence  with  me. 
The  game  is  up,  I  tell  you." 

The  stranger  sat  down  and  pressed  his  hands  tightly 
over  his  face  for  the  space  of  a  minute.  Raising  his 
head  at  length,  and  looking  the  detective  full  in  the 
face,  he  said :  "  My  worthy  fellow,  you  are  evidently 
insane.  Otherwise,  you  have  made  one  of  the  most 
stupid  blunders  on  record.  You  say  my  name  is  Victor 
ii 


162        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

Mauprat,  and  that  I  am  an  escaped  convict,  accused  of 
innumerable  crimes." 

"That's  it." 

"  Will  you  have  the  goodness  to  make  things  a  little 
clearer  as  to  my  implication  in  these  things ;  also  my 
identification  with  Victor  Mauprat.  I  confess,  you 
know,  you  have  some  ground  for  suspicion  if  the 
photograph  is  a  faithful  picture  of  the  man  you 
seek," 

"  I  have  found  him." 

"  Very  well ;  I  am  satisfied  if  you  will  be  good  enough 
to  explain." 

Peter  Dusk  rang  a  bell  on  the  table.  "  Bring  a  bottle 
of  wine,"  he  said  to  the  waiter.  When  the  man  ap- 
peared with  the  liquor,  he  handed  him  a  half-sovereign 
and  a  scrap  of  paper.  "  Let  that  note  be  taken  to  Bow 
Street  at  once,"  he  said.  And  the  waiter  nodded  and 
withdrew.  "  It's  rather  dry  work,  talking,"  continued 
the  detective.  "  I'm  not  a  dab  at  it  at  any  time  ;  how- 
ever, I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  I've  been  after  you 
these  last  twelve  months,  and  as  I  mean  to  be  brief  in 
explaining,  oblige  me  by  filling  the  glasses." 

With  his  elbows  on  the  table,  propping  up  his  hard, 
stern,  sunburnt  face,  and  his  unwinking  eyes  fixed  on 
those  of  the  man  opposite  with  lynx-like  watchfulness, 
Peter  Dusk  recounted  all  the  points  in  the  life  of  Hilton 
Fernbrook,  from  his  leaving  New  Zealand  to  his  escape 
from  the  burning  ship,  the  "  Seagull." 

It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  the  changes  that 
came  and  went  over  the  man's  face  as  he  listened.  Now 
fierce  and  frowning,  with  spasmodic  clutching  of  the 
strong  hands;  anon  smiling  in  absolute  disdain  and 
withering  contempt. 

"  And  now,"  said  the  detective,  when  he  had  con- 


AT  LAST.  163 

eluded,  "  what  you  to  reply  ?  You  are  the  man — now, 
aren't  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  Hilton  Fernbrook,  and  Colonel  de  Roal  was 
my  friend.  That  is  my  reply  at  present,"  answered  the 
stranger,  slowly. 

"  You  will  have  to  accompany  me  to  jail." 

"  I  am  ready." 

And  the  pair  went  out  into  the  darkness  of  the 
night. 


164        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE    BANDOLINE. 

And  now  the  world  is  winterly, 
The  first  love  fades,  too  ;  none  will  see, 
When  April  warms  the  world  anew, 
The  place  wherein  love  grew. 

THE  great  round  globe  has  one  more  year  added  to 
its  hoary  age.  So  much  the  more  of  blossoming  in 
what  was  once  a  wilderness  in  the  far-away  Southern 
Hemisphere,  where  the  emigrant  and  the  squatter  have 
set  the  fresh  print  of  their  civilizing  feet. 

Fair  and  pleasant  New  Zealand !  How  many  fair 
and  lovely  places  within  thy  bright  domain  have  suffered 
wreck  and  pillage  at  the  beck  of  the  angry  War-god  ! 
How  many  blackened  ruins  yet  smoulder,  that  had  been 
happy,  smiling  homes !  North,  South,  East,  and  West, 
the  ravages  of  strife  are  everywhere  visible. 

An  autumnal  evening,  soft,  gray,  and  misty  in  the 
country,  as  if  thick  with  the  smoke  of  burning  home- 
steads. A  pitched  battle  has  been  fought  on  the  banks 
of  the  Waikato,  between  Titori  and  the  colonists,  and 
Titori  and  his  hosts  of  dusky  warriors  have  suffered  a 
signal  defeat.  The  city  of  Auckland  is  jubilant,  the 
citizens  are  en  fete  over  the  battle  won.  Many  of  those 
grouped  together  in  the  streets  are  poor,  unhappy 
people,  who  have  been  driven  from  their  tenements  in 
the  surrounding  district  by  the  rebel  hordes,  and  have 
had  to  take  refuge  in  the  city. 


THE  BANDOLINE.  165 

It  is  the  last  night  of  August,  and  the  first  night  of 
Alton  Lyndhurst's  new  and  original  comedy,  "  Love's 
Test." 

Spite  of  the  excitement  and  the  depressed  influence 
of  war,  spite  of  the  sanguinary  conflict  being  waged 
almost  within  the  precincts  of  the  city,  this  was  to  be 
altogether  a  great  night  in  the  dramatic  world.  The 
old  Princess's  in  Queen's  Street,  had  been  demolished 
at  the  nod  of  one  Amos  Ward,  a  large  mill-owner  and 
Mayor  elect,  and  in  its  stead  had  risen  the  stately 
Bandoline,  capable  of  seating  three  thousand  people. 
The  new  theatre  had  cost  the  Mayor  of  Auckland  thirty 
thousand  pounds,  but  what  of  that  ?  Amos  Ward  is 
rich,  a  bachelor,  and  at  forty  is  head  over  heels  in  love 
with  the  popular  and  universally  admired  Victorine 
Gayland.  Save  for  that  terrible  engagement  on  Drury's 
Plains,  whereon  so  many  Pakehas  and  Maoris  lie 
side  by  side  in  death,  the  Bandoline  and  the  beautiful 
young  actress  have  constituted  the  sole  topic  of  con- 
versation. The  St.  James's,  Liberal,  Bohemian,  and 
other  clubs  have  discussed,  with  that  after-dinner 
assumption  of  conscious  ignorance  which  distinguishes 
the  dramatic  Sir  Oracle,  the  artificial  mode  and  the  ex- 
travagances of  toilet  which  astonish  and  delight  the 
multitude.  Even  the  terms  with  which  the  favorite 
actress  has  consented  to  remain  on  the  boards  for  an- 
other season  have  been  stated  with  an  exactness  which 
passes  current  for  accuracy. 

Victorine  Gayland  is  something  more  than  a  mere 
favorite  with  the  play-going  public  of  Auckland.  Her 
patriotic  whim  has  been  bruited  about,  and  it  is  a 
matter  to  be  counted  upon  that,  whenever  she  appears, 
the  seats  from  gallery  to  private  boxes  are  at  a  premium. 
The  all-important  night  of  a  new  play  has  come.  At 


166        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

a  quarter  before  eight  the  dainty  theatre  is  packed  as 
closely  as  if  it  were  a  bon-bon  box  filled  with  chocolate 
creams.  The  critics  are  there  in  full  phalanx,  some  of 
them  with  handsome  wives  at  their  elbows  to  assist 
them  iii  forming  their  opinions,  or  at  least  to  expound 
the  merits  of  Mrs.  Gayland's  dresses. 

The  general  public  is  here  in  full  force,  having  paid 
its  money,  eager  for  the  favorite's  triumph ;  but  that 
particular  public  of  literature  and  art  which,  in  many 
cases,  has  not  paid  for  admittance,  is  the  most  notice- 
able. All  these  critical  gentlemen  display  a  lively  in- 
terest in  the  event  of  the  night,  and  have  such  a  good- 
natured  air  that  it  is  hard  to  believe  that  gall  may  flow 
from  their  pens  instead  of  honey.  The  private  boxes 
are  all  occupied ;  pretty  faces  and  bright  dresses  line 
the  theatre.  It  has  been  so  artfully  designed  that  the 
gallery,  though  a  fair  place  for  seeing  from,  is  almost  in- 
visible to  the  parterre  and  boxes,  being,  as  it  were, 
effaced  by  a  dome  of  gilded  lattice,  the  most  noticeable 
feature  in  the  house,  which  screens  the  sun-burner,  and 
tempers  its  effulgence.  Above  this  perforated  dome 
there  are  large  skylights  which  open  to  the  cool  night, 
so  that  in  warm  and  fine  weather  the  Bandoline  may  be 
made  almost  an  open-air  theatre.  The  one  private  box 
which  is  not  well  filled  is  the  stage-box  on  the  left  of 
the  proscenium. 

Here  sits  a  gentleman  in  solitary  state — a  gentleman 
of  about  forty,  in  faultless  evening  dress.  His  hair, 
moustache,  and  beard  are  of  that  rich  brown  which 
marks  the  type  of  the  handsome  and  stalwart  Anglo- 
Saxon  breed  all  the  world  over.  Seated  on  a  stool  out- 
side the  box — but  with  his  head  above  the  cushioned 
partition,  so  that  he  can  see  his  master — Phil  Brock 
waits  upon  his  master. 


THE  BANDOLINE.  167 

Phil  is  an  Irishman  of  the  old  school,  fifty  years  of 
age  or  thereabouts,  but  as  hardy  and  as  supple  in  mind 
and  limb  as  an  athlete  of  half  his  years.  Hot-tem- 
pered and  passionate,  almost  to  the  verge  of  insanity, 
when  fairly  crossed,  yet  Phil  is  one  of  the  most  kind- 
hearted  and  faithful  fellows  alive.  For  fifteen  years 
he  has  followed  the  varied  fortunes  of  his  master, 
during  which  time  master  and  man  have  become  so 
accustomed  to  and  dependent  on  each  other,  that  the 
old  confidential  servant  does  and  says  almost  what 
he  pleases  with  the  Mayor  of  Auckland.  In  personal 
appearance  Phil  is  not  elegant  or  beautiful,  but  he  is 
scrupulously  neat  in  his  attire,  and  carries  his  short- 
cropped  head  high  in  the  air,  like  a  man  who  feels 
the  importance  of  his  position. 

"  There's  Ward  already  in  his  den,"  says  Captain 
Jack  Hemmington,  of  Pye's  Horse.  "  I  wonder  how 
he  feels  now  the  builder's  bill  has  come  in." 

"  Pshaw ! "  grunts  his  companion,  Colonel  Howe,  a 
chemist  by  profession,  but  who  has  been  obliged  to 
take  up  arms  in  defence  of  hearth  and  home.  "  Amos 
Ward  thinks  no  more  of  settling  for  a  building  like 
this  than  you  would  of  paying  for  a  bottle  of  fizz  at 
the  Albion.  He  has  more  saw-mills  than  I  have 
boots." 

Opera-glasses  are  directed  to  the  solitary  gentleman, 
by  this  time,  by  many  a  marriageable  miss  and  design- 
ing mamma.  It  is  pretty  well  known  that  Amos 
Ward's  money  is  to  pay  for  the  building,  that  it  is  his 
venture.  Of  course,  Mrs.  Gay  land  has  taken  the  les- 
seeship  in  good  faith,  and  will  pay  her  five  hundred 
pounds  rent  for  the  season;  but  the  straw-colored 
quilted  satin,  the  amethyst  velvet  cushions,  chair- 
covers,  curtains,  the  crystal  girandoles,  with  clusters 


168        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

of  Parian  candles ;  the  cloak-rooms  with  their  luxu- 
rious appliances,  the  smoking  divan  opening  on  a  wide 
stone  balcony  overhanging  the  street,  where  smokers 
may  sit  on  warm  nights — these  and  a  hundred  other 
details  the  bachelor  Mayor  of  Auckland  must  pay  for. 

There  is  excitement  everywhere  on  this  the  opening 
night  of  the  Bandoline.  But  excitement  the  most  in- 
tense because  the  most  suppressed  reigns  in  Victorine 
Gayland's  dressing-room,  an  exquisite  apartment  in 
which  is  concentrated  the  costliness  and  taste  of  the 
whole  building.  Amos  Ward  had  said  to  the  archi- 
tect :  "  Let  this  one  dressing-room  be  as  perfect  as  art 
can  make  it — simply  that ;  if  you  do  not  succeed,  I 
shall  consider  the  whole  design  a  failure." 

According  to  his  light,  and  the  material  at  command, 
the  architect  has  obeyed.  The  Duchess  of  Marl- 
borough,  in  the  plenitude  of  her  power,  had  not  rooms 
more  elegant  or  costly. 

Victorine  Gayland  stands  before  the  cheval  glass 
dressed  for  her  part.  The  long,  straight  robe,  of  white 
cashmere,  rather  improves  than  hides  her  slender 
figure.  Each  round,  thin  arm  is  clasped  with  a  golden 
serpent,  and  a  golden  serpent  binds  her  glossy  hair. 
These  are  her  sole  ornaments.  In  an  easy-chair  by 
the  fireplace  sits  Alton  Lyndhurst,  who  has  just  been 
admitted  to  an  audience,  being  altogether  a  privileged 
person,  this  evening ;  he  sees  the  magnificent  dressing- 
room  to-night  for  the  first  time,  and  is  warm  in  his 
praise  of  its  beauty. 

"  Beatrice  Carson  could  have  nothing  better,"  he 
says.  "The  place  is  worthy  the  heroine  of  'Love's 
Test.' " 

Mrs.  Gayland  shrugs  her  slim  shoulders  with  a  de- 
precating air.  "  How  much  more  useful  the  money 


THE  BANDOLINE.  169 

this  room  cost  would  have  been  to  the  Patriotic 
Fund !  "  she  replied. 

"No  doubt;  but  his  Worship  the  Mayor  of  Auck- 
land is  not  so  imbued  with  the  spirit  of  patriotism  as 
yourself.  People  say  he  has  built  this  room  as  a  trib- 
ute to  your  genius." 

Victorine's  dark  eyes  flash  upon  him  angrily  for  a 
moment,  and  then  grow  grave  even  to  gloom.  "  People 
must  have  something  to  say.  I  suppose  every  puppy 
of  the  club  thinks  it  the  thing  to  scandalize  a  lady," 
she  replies,  looking  down  at  the  folds  of  her  drapery. 

"  You  did  not  expect  to  escape  when  you  allowed 
Mr.  Amos  Ward  to  erect  this  theatre  for  you  ?  " 

"The  Mayor  of  Auckland  built  this  house  as  a 
speculation,"  she  says  proudly.  "I  am  in  no  way  con- 
cerned if  he  squandered  his  money  upon  this  foolish 
room.  I  take  it  the  place  was  not  built  absolutely  on 
my  account." 

"Pardon  me,"  he  says  in  a  quiet  tone.  "The  dress- 
ing-room is  an  honor  to  his  worship's  good  taste.  And 
now,  honestly,  do  you  feel  that  you  are  going  to  make 
my  poor  effort  a  success  ?  " 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  were  going  to  break  down ;  my  head 
is  burning  and  my  hands  are  like  ice."  She  gives  him 
her  small  slender  hand,  stone  cold  and  trembling. 

"  You  will  not  fail,"  he  says  decisively.  "  The  play 
will  be  a  hit." 

He  knows  that,  with  her  highly-strung  nature,  she 
is  sure  to  be  greatest  when  she  suffers  most. 

"  Oh !  I  have  never  acted  in  a  play  of  yours  before ; 
think  of  that !  " 

"  And  never  shall  I  have  a  character  of  mine  so  in- 
terpreted. You  will  breathe  a  soul  into  my  mould  of 
clay,"  he  answers  warmly. 


170        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

She  gives  him  a  look  which  glorifies  her  pale  face, 
very  pale  indeed  now. 

"Say  one  word  to  me,  Alton,  before  you  go,"  srie 
pleads  with  tenderest  saddest  beseeching  in  her  voice. 

He  comes  to  her  slowly,  takes  the  smajl  braided 
head  between  his  hands  and  kisses  her  forehead.  So 
might  a  father  or  brother  have  kissed  her  in  some 
solemn  crisis  of  her  life.  He  is  so  utterly  an  artist, 
that  he  understands  every  shade  of  the  subtle  feeling 
of  art  by  which  they  are  allied,  that  this  hazard  of  suc- 
cess seems  to  him  a  solemn  crisis. 

Victorine  Gayland  is  not  thinking  of  the  play. 
There  comes  to  her  a  picture  of  a  green  lane  in  sum- 
mer time.  The  warm  glowing  tints  of  late  summer,  a 
steep  grassy  bank  on  which  wild  ferns  grow  tall ;  and 
two  figures,  her  own  and  that  of  the  man  standing  near 
her  now;  they  are  clasped  hand  in  hand,  her  head 
upon  his  shoulder,  her  eyes  looking  up  at  him  proudly, 
fondly  as  a  girl's  eyes  turn  to  her  first  lover ;  but  the 
picture  is  over  six  years  old,  and  Victorine  Gayland's 
thoughts  and  feelings  have  gone  through  many  a  change 
within  the  compass  of  these  years.  She  has  changed 
her  standard  of  value,  and  that  which  she  then  longed 
for,  she  now  loathes  as  basest  dross.  All  that  she  has 
of  worldly  wealth,  all  praise  and  homage  that  she  has 
now,  she  would  give  in  exchange  for  his  honest  love 
again. 

"  How  much  you  have  altered  since  last  year!  "  she 
says  thoughtfully. 

"  For  the  worse,  perhaps  ?  " 

"  Nay ;  I  mean,  you  have  grown  serious — sternly 
serious." 

"  May  not  a  man  be  in  earnest  now  and  then  ?  " 

«  Perhaps." 


THE  BANDOLINE. 

Alton  Lyndhurst  finds  they  are  drifting  away  on  to 
dangerous  ground ;  he  therefore  takes  up  his  hat  to 
depart. 

"I  have  invited  some  friends  to  witness  the  per- 
formance, and  must  join  them,"  he  says.  "  Before  I  go, 
let  me  take  this  opportunity  to  thank  you  for  the  kind 
and  friendly  interest  you  have  shown  in  the  production 
of  my  play." 

A  sudden  feverish  light  comes  into  her  dark  hazel 
eyes.  "  How  can  you  talk  of  kindness  and  friendliness 
from  me  to  you  ?  Alton,  do  you  think  I  have  forgotten 
— can  you  have  so  utterly  ignored  the  past  as  to  believe 
it  possible  for  me  to  forget  ?  "  With  passionate  tears, 
which  she  tries  in  vain  to  suppress,  she  cries,  "  I  threw 
away  your  love  when  it  was  mine — foolish,  ignorant  of 
my  own  heart.  Oh,  Alton,  can  it  never  be  mine  again  ? 
Can  the  dear  old  days  never  come  back  ?  I  was  little 
better  than  a  shameful  huckster  when  I  wronged  you, 
but  the  wrong  was  based  upon  the  outcome  of  biting 
necessity,  not  upon  the  knowledge  of  your  worth.  I 
have  been  educated  in  sorrow  to  a  clearer  view  of  things, 
and  my  love  has  grown  with  my  growth ;  can  I  never 
win  back  what  I  lost  ?  Am  I  so  worthless  a  creature, 
I  whom  the  world  praises,  that  my  penitence  and  my 
love  count  for  nothing  with  you,  Alton  ?  "  she  asks  with 
piteous  pleading. 

It  is  in  vain  for  her  to  plead  now  ! 

Five  minutes  ago,  and  to  Victorine  Gayland  the  con- 
fession would  have  seemed  of  all  things  the  most  impos- 
sible. The  words  have  burst  from  her  in  a  gust  of 
passion,  sudden  as  a  stormy  blast  rushing  in  at  a  rashly- 
opened  casement. 

After  that  last  question  she  bows  her  head  upon  the 
mantelpiece  to  hide  her  crimson,  tearful  face. 


172        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

He  approaches  her,  takes  her  hand  in  his  hand  ever 
so  gently,  and  with  grave  tenderness  replies, "  Victorine, 
the  age  of  miracles  is  past,  and  in  our  days  the  dead  do 
not  come  back  to  life.  I  shall  be  your  friend  always ; 
your  lover,  never  again ! " 


"  LOVE'S  TEST."  173 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"  LOVE'S  TEST." 

She  did  not  weep, 

But  o'er  her  brightness  came  a  happy  mist 
Like  that  which  kept  the  heart  of  Eden  green, 
Before  the  useful  trouble  of  the  rain. 

IN  most  colonists'  lives  there  comes  an  Australian 
spring.  Ere  that  trip  to  Europe  was  begun,  Alton 
Lyndhurst's  favorite  complaint  was  that  he  had  lived 
his  life ;  that  dreams  and  desires  and  even  ambition 
had  come  to  an  end  for  him ;  that  he  had  no  expectation 
of  ever  doing  better  work,  or  winning  wider  renown,  or 
of  being  in  any  wise  better  or  happier  for  the  passage 
of  the  coming  years.  Yet  to-night  he  feels  the  soft, 
gentle,  fragrant  spring  within  and  without  his  whole 
being,  as  if  a  new  world  had  opened  its  portal  to  him. 
In  a  word,  he  is  in  love — in  love  with  a  good  woman,  in 
whose  faith  and  constancy  he  has  no  shadow  of  doubt. 

Within  a  month  of  his  return  to  New  Zealand,  the 
young  novelist  renews  his  acquaintance  with  the  Car- 
lingtons,  who  had  already  arrived  with  their  kinsman, 
and  had  taken  up  their  abode  at  the  Mount.  He  has  not 
much  time  for  playing  the  gallant,  inasmuch  as  he  is 
busy  with  the  publication  of  his  new  book,  a  story  in 
which  he  has  squandered  the  spare  hours  of  his  long 
holiday,  and  in  which  he  has  earnestly  striven  to  rise 
out  of  the  old  conventional  groove  into  something 


174        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

higher  and  better.  Maud  Carlington,  who  has  been 
but  as  a  passing  sunbeam  across  his  life,  has  deeply 
influenced  his  thoughts — unawares,  perhaps,  but  none 
the  less — influenced  the  entire  work,  which  he,  in  his 
heart  of  hearts,  has  dedicated  to  her. 

Alas  for  thy  towering  aspirations,  poor  scribe  !  The 
book  is  a  failure.  Kindly  critics  recognize  the  intention 
of  the  writer,  applaud  the  idyllic  simplicity  of  the  story, 
the  purity  of  the  sentiment,  and  give  their  readers  a 
general  impression  of  weakness  and  of  a  half-realized 
design ;  in  short,  damn  the  whole  thing  with  faint  praise. 
The  "  Thunderer,"  ruthless  as  Jeffrey  in  his  attack  upon 
Wordsworth,  says :  "  Extract  the  acid  cynicism  and  the 
half- veiled  immorality  from  Mr.  Lyndhurst's  style,  and 
the  result  is  about  as  palatable  as  lemonade  without 
lemon  or  sugar  ;  "  and  the  great  journal  summing-up 
with  that  grand  air  of  papal  infallibility,  continues  : 
"  We  advise  the  author  to  stick  to  the  tinsel  with  which 
he  has  achieved  some  rather  brilliant  effects,  and  not 
waste  his  labor  in  deep- sinking  operations  upon  an  im- 
agination which  does  not  abound  in  gold." 

No  voice  in  the  land  higher  or  mightier  than  that  of 
the  infallible  "Thunderer,"  though  opinions  vary  in 
their  estimate  of  that  journal's  wisdom  and  strict  no- 
tions of  fair  play.  The  review  wounds  Lyndhurst  as 
keenly  as  if  the  people  of  New  Zealand  with  one  voice 
had  acknowledged  the  critic's  judgment  as  unassailable. 
His  book  is  the  expression  of  all  that  was  best  and  truest 
in  his  mind — and  lo,  the  result !  His  publishers  politely 
regret  that  the  book  has  not  been  quite  so  successful  in 
the  way  of  sale  as  his  previous  work,  and  gently  hint 
that,  having  succeeded  in  one  line,  it  is  hazardous  to 
attempt  another. 

"  Thanks  for  the  friendly  caution,"  says  the  poor 


"LOVE'S  TEST."  175 

author,  with  a  forced  smile ;  "  but  I  don't  believe  honest 
work  can  ever  be  thrown  away.  If  my  next  should 
also  prove  a  failure,  the  labor  I  shall  have  given  it  will 
not  be  the  less  helpful  to  me  as  an  artist.  There  are 
books  which  a  man  writes  which  are  like  the  solfeggi 
that  make  a  singer's  voice  flexible ;  there  may  be  noth- 
ing in  the  solfeggi,  but  when  that  voice  attacks  a  real 
melody,  the  strength  of  past  labor  is  its  glory.  I  am 
ready  to  accept  my  failures  as  education." 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  turmoil  of  criticism,  the 
author  received  a  note  from  Colonel  Langrove,  inform- 
ing him  that  the  Carlingtons  were  in  town,  and  would 
be  glad  to  see  him.  They  had  accepted  an  invitation 
from  the  Honorable  Bob  Trevor,  and  were  staying  at 
his  house,  Shortland  Crescent.  He  finds  the  Colonel 
and  the  Honorable  Mrs.  Carlington  full  of  his  new 
work. 

"We  have  been  delighted  over  your  pages,"  says 
the  widow ;  and  that  we  is  very  precious  to  Lyndhurst, 
because  he  knows  that  Colonel  Langrove,  her  brother, 
is  not  a  reader,  and  therefore  is  not  included.  "  We 
feel  as  if  this  book  had  made  you  indeed  our  friend. 
All  that  was  hard  and  cynical,  all  that  had  a  false  ring 
in  your  former  works — pray  forgive  me  if  I  am  too 
candid — is  absent  here.  The  heart  of  the  writer  throbs 
in  every  page,  and  it  is  a  noble  heart.  The  book  is 
full  of  truth  and  earnestness  and  faith  in  good  things ; 
and  I  have  no  judgment  of  books  or  men  if  it  is  not 
ultimately  the  most  popular  of  all  your  stories,  and 
that  to  which  you  will  owe  enduring  fame." 

"  Let  the  *  Thunderer '  go  hang,"  thinks  the  novelist, 
philosophically.  "  One  true  woman's  heart  has  been 
moved  by  my  work,  one  pure  mind  has  recognized  its 
worth.  A  fig  for  their  praise  or  censure.  Orpheus 


176        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

braved  the  burning  blasts  of  Tartarus  in  quest  of  his 
love,  and  shall  I  do  less  for  ray  art?" 

Philosopher  and  student  of  human  nature  as  he  is, 
Alton  Lyndhurst  is  in  love !  Man  of  the  world,  anato- 
mizer,  he  cannot  mistake  the  signs  in  himself.  One 
single  word  of  praise  has  outweighed  all  the  studied 
and  labored  thrusts  of  the  "  Thunderer  " ;  he  forgets 
everything,  from  the  C  sharp  minor  of  reprobation  to 
the  E  flat  major  of  mild  approval  of  its  contemporaries. 

Maud  Caiiington  has  lived  in  him  and  with  him 
through  all  the  varied  stages  of  that  twin  world,  the 
real  and  the  ideal,  accessible  only  to  the  true  artist. 
She  has  been  his  model,  around  which  he  has  woven 
his  airy  fancies,  until  they  have  stood  forth  fancies  no 
longer,  but  living  breathing  humanity. 

While  the  last  finishing  touches  are  being  put  upon 
the  Bandoline,  he  lives  his  life  as  of  old,  dines  at  his 
club,  or  at  other  men's  tables,  flirts  betimes,  and  says 
clever  things,  or  is  supposed  to  say  them. 

Hampton  House,  on  the  Crescent,  is  the  resort  of 
the  notables  of  the  Northern  Island,  as  its  owner  is, 
without  doubt,  the  most  popular  man  in  the  country. 
Alton  Lyndhurst  is  a  constant  visitor.  The  grounds 
attached  to  the  house  are  worthy  an  old  English  Baron's 
domain  in  the  feudal  days  of  King  John.  The  Kauri 
Parade,  a  strip  of  turf  a  quarter  of  a  mile  long,  bor- 
dered by  giant  kauri  pines,  which  meet  overhead  in 
one  unbroken  leafy  arcade,  is  the  favorite  walk  of 
Major  Trevor's  guests.  Actors  have  studied  their 
parts  beneath  its  sheltered  canopy,  and  greater  actors 
on  the  real  stage  of  life  have  rehearsed  their  parts  here. 

One  lovely  afternoon,  Maud  Carlington  and  Alton 
Lyndhurst  find  themselves  alone  together  on  the  Kauri 
Promenade :  alone  as  Adam  and  Eve  in  Eden,  and  as 


"  LOVE'S  TEST."  177 

forgetful  of  the  rest  of  the  world  as  if  they  had  verily 
been  the  first  people.  There  is  silence  between  them, 
but  overhead  the  ki-ki  is  pouring  forth  his  parting 
song  to  the  fading  day.  They  are  alone  amongst 
vague  fancies  which  are  growing  to  strongest  love. 

"  Maud,  you  wear  that  flower  for  my  sake.  Does  it 
mean  that  you  will  wear  the  orange  blossom  for  me  ? 
Answer,  Maud ;  say  yes — for  none  but  me,  all  unworthy 
of  your  love,  but  chosen  because  I  love  so  well.  Look 
at  me,  dear — answer.  My  happiest  thought  in 
looking  forward  to  this  day  was  the  thought  that 
we  might  be  alone  for  one  brief  moment,  as  we  are 
now." 

She  cannot  answer  him  just  yet.  One  little  hand 
plays  nervously  with  the  spray  of  fern,  her  eyelids 
droop  over  the  soft  violet  eyes.  He  sees  the  dark 
lashes  tremble  on  the  rich  bloom  of  her  cheek  before 
that  lovely  blush  dies  away  and  leaves  her  pale. 

"  Maud,  are  you  angry  with  me  for  having  dared  to 
hope  ?  I  know  I  am  not  worthy  of  you,  that  I  am 
your  inferior  in  all  that  is  highest  and  best  in  mind 
and  heart.  I  have  known  that  from  the  day  we  met, 
that  happy  summer  day  on  Santo  Carlo,  when  we  sat 
by  the  lily-fringed  brooklet,  and  you  spoke  to  me  of 
my  profession,  with  that  sweet  serious  air  of  yours 
which  made  me  think  of  Hypatia.  But  I  love  you, 
darling ;  and  true  love  must  stand  for  the  virtues  I 
have  not.  I  will  love  and  honor  you  all  the  days  of 
my  life,  and  my  nature  shall  be  exalted  by  its  union 
with  yours.  Love,  will  you  take  my  life  into  your 
hands,  be  my  teacher  and  the  guide  of  my  thoughts  ? 
That  wide  word  wife  includes  all  the  rest.  Will  you 
be  my  wife,  Maud  ?  " 

He  has  taken  the  hand  he  has  yearned  to  take  for 
12 


178        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

months  past,  taken  possession  of  it  utterly,  as  if  it 
were  his  own  property. 

"  If  I  thought  your  life  would  be  better  or  happier — n 
she  falters,  only  able  to  approach  the  awful  question 
in  a  lateral  direction. 

"  It  will  be  happier,  better,  brighter,  and  ever  so 
much  longer.  If  you  were  to  deny  me,  Maud,  the 
remnant  of  my  wretched  existence  would  be  squandered 
on  riotous  nights,  sleeplessness,  and  brandy.  You 
mean  yes,  darling.  I  shall  see  the  waxen  orange 
flowers  in  your  dark  hair  worn  for  me.  You  will  take 
me,  faulty  as  I  am,  believe  in  me  and  in  my  future, 
and  trust  me  with  your  young  life.  If  truth  and  honor 
and  ambition  can  brighten  it,  then  it  shall  be  bright 
for  your  dear  sake." 

His  arm  is  around  her,  and  she  is  drawn  to  his 
breast  in  that  sweet  summer  solitude.  Her  head  lies 
there  for  one  blessed  moment,  while  his  lips  seal  their 
betrothal — the  first  masculine  lips,  save  her  father's, 
that  have  kissed  her  since  she  was  a  child — a  kiss  of 
sacred  promise,  never  to  be  forgotten,  sealing  her  for 
his  own. 

Side  by  side  they  walk  between  the  stately  kauris, 
her  hand  drawn  through  his  arm,  and  held  there  as  if 
it  were  never  to  be  released  from  that  strong  grasp. 
Silence  is  dead  and  buried  between  them,  and  the 
melodious  life  around  them  is  unheeded. 

"Alton,"  Maud  says  gravely,  coming  to  that  one 
dread  question  which  no  woman  refrains  from  asking, 
"  did  you  ever  care  for  any  one  else  ?  Your  first  love — 
to  whom  was  that  given,  and  why  did  it  not  end 
happily?" 

"  First  love,  Maud,  is  the  offspring  of  fancy,  and  has 
its  source  in  the  brain  rather  than  in  the  heart.  Mine 


"  LOVE'S  TEST."  179 

came  to  a  very  prosaic  end.  The  lady  jilted  me  with- 
out a  day's  warning." 

"  Then,  surely  she  must  have  been  unworthy  of  you  ?n 

"Not  unworthy  of  me,  perhaps,  but  unworthy  of 
my  regret.  I  was  wise  enough  to  discover  that,  and 
therefore  wasted  no  more  upon  her,"  adds  Alton,  care- 
lessly. 

Maud  is  grateful  to  him  for  his  candor,  and  yet  a 
little  disappointed.  "Were  you  very  much  in  love 
with  the  lady  ?  "  she  asks.  * 

"Over  head  and  ears  ;  but  I  must  repeat,  first  love 
is  like  one's  first  champagne,  a  transient  intoxication. 
The  girl  was  accomplished,  clever,  and,  though  not 
absolutely  beautiful,  graceful  beyond  compare.  I 
thought  her  the  most  charming  creature  in  the  world. 
We  had  known  each  other  from  childhood." 

"  Ah !  she  must  have  loved  you  !  Perhaps  she  was 
influenced  by  the  wealth  of  some  less  worthy  suitor  ?  " 
hazards  Maud,  slow  to  believe  that  anyone  could 
voluntarily  play  him  false. 

"  Possibly." 

"  Did  she  marry  for  money  ?  " 

The  frank  countenance  of  the  novelist  darkens  for 
one  brief  moment  as  with  a  spasm  of  pain.  "  The  man 
she  married  was  one  of  the  richest  men  in  this  country," 
he  answers  slowly.  "  He  died  two  years  after  his 
marriage,  and  left  his  widow  two  hundred  thousand 
pounds  in  hard  cash." 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  her  since  then,  Alton  ?  " 

Alton  whirls  the  twig  of  fern  he  has  been  carrying 
away  across  the  Kauri  Parade.  This  is  trying,  but  he 
endeavors  to  look  unconcerned:  "Yes,  I  have  met 
her  in  society." 

"But  not  of  ten?" 


180        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

"  No,  our  lives  lie  far  apart,  Maud  dearest,"  solemnly 
looking  upon  her  clouded  face ;  "  have  no  jealous  fear, 
either  of  the  past  or  the  future.  No  rival  can  ever 
come  between  us  two." 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  of  that,  Alton  ?  " 

"  As  sure  as  that  I  live  and  hold  you  in  my  arms," 
he  answers,  clasping  her  fondly. 

"  Because,  if  there  is  the  shadow  of  a  doubt  in  your 
heart,  leave  me  my  old  life.  When  we  are  married, 
all  those  for  whom  I  have  lived  and  loved  I  shall  for- 
sake for  your  love.  I  shall  want  your  whole  heart, 
Alton." 

"  It  is  absolutely  yours,  Maud.  It  went  forth  to  you 
gladly,  as  a  bird  flies  to  meet  the  summer.  It  is  yours 
for  ever —  the  ever  of  man's  brief  span." 

"  Mine  for  ever,  I  trust,"  she  answers  solemnly. 
"  There  is  no  heaven  for  you  and  me  in  which  we  shall 
not  know  and  love,  dear  Alton." 

On  this  August  evening,  in  the  glow  of  the  golden 
sunset,  the  Bandoline  is  looking  its  brightest.  The 
author's  friends  are  waiting  for  him — Maud  Carling- 
ton,  in  palest  gray  silk,  a  crimson  rose  in  her  hair ;  the 
Hon.  Mrs.  Carlington,  and  the  Hon.  Bob  Trevor,  with 
Colonel  Langrove  as  aide-de-camp.  They  have  a  box, 
one  of  the  best  in  the  new  theatre,  all  to  themselves. 
Lyndhurst  had  arranged  that  a  week  before.  The 
little  party  manage  to  get  into  their  places  in  time  to 
see  the  curtain  rise  on  a  scene  as  perfect  as  any  which 
our  realistic  stage  has  ever  offered  to  the  public. 

Maud  Carlington  rests  her  round,  white  arm,  half 
veiled  by  a  Malines  ruffle,  on  the  crimson  cushion, 
and  fixes  her  eyes  on  the  stage  with  that  absorbed  at- 
tention only  known  to  those  who  have  not  done  a  season 


"  LOVE'S  TEST."  181 

in  the  metropolis.  Alton  Lyndhurst,  standing  behind 
her  chair,  feels  as  if  all  the  audience  were  as  nothing 
compared  with  one  spectator. 

"  Love's  Test "  is  no  adaptation  from  the  French, 
but  an  original  comedy,  full  of  strong  dramatic  in- 
terest. The  text  is  vigorous,  powerful,  and  replete 
with  smart  repartee,  with  keen  and  sudden  touches  of 
irony,  so  that  the  vast  audience  is  soon  roused  into  storm 
after  storm  of  applause. 

Victorine  Gayland's  part  is  one  of  the  finest  she 
has  ever  performed.  The  author  must  have  known  for 
whom  he  created  the  part ;  the  actress,  how  to  enlarge 
his  idea,  and  give  it  living,  breathing  form. 

Presently  she  enters,  and  while  the  audience  applaud, 
those  swift,  dark  eyes  of  hers  glance  round  the  house, 
She  sees  Alton  standing  behind  Maud's  chair — sees 
him,  and  one  little  agitated  movement  indicates  that 
she  has  seen  him. 

The  popular  actress  is  in  her  best  form  at  that  mo- 
ment ;  every  nerve  braced  like  those  of  the  gladiator 
who  knows  that  the  greatest  of  Rome  are  witnessing 
his  efforts.  More  than  once  in  the  course  of  the  play 
the  keen,  dark  eyes  glance  at  Major  Trevor's  box,  and 
mark  the  fair  freshness  of  the  strange  beauty. 

She  stands  at  the  wing,  unseen,  and  gazes  her  fill  at 
Maud.  The  nobility  of  the  girl's  face  impresses  her, 
just  as  it  impressed  Alton  at  Venice.  Who  is  she  ? 
Some  mere  acquaintance  of  the  hour,  perhaps,  to 
whom  it  is  necessary  for  the  rising  dramatist  to  be 
civil.  Yet  how  he  bends  over  her  chair,  what  a  tender 
look  steals  over  his  countenance,  as  he  stoops  to  hear 
her  half-whispered  praise  of  the  acting  of  the  play. 
Victorine  Gayland  turns  from  the  sight  sick  at  heart. 
She  has  not  yet  taught  herself  to  despair  of  winning 


182        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

him  again,  despite  those  calm  deliberate  words  which 
pronounced  the  doom  of  a  dead  love.  She  will  not 
admit  to  herself  that  she  has  failed.  He  is  proud,  he 
is  resentful ;  but  in  his  inmost  heart  the  old  love  lives 
yet.  The  sight  of  this  fair,  new  face  has  kindled  a  fire 
in  her  breast.  She  acts  with  a  force  which  is  new 
even  to  Alton. 

"  How  natural,  how  wonderful  she  is ! "  whispers 
Maud,  tears  shining  in  her  eyes. 

"  She  is  a  great  creature !  "  cries  Alton,  as  the  cur- 
tain falls. 

Bouquets  shoot  rocket-like  through  the  air — whence, 
none  can  discover.  "  Love's  Test "  is  a  triumphant 
success. 

Midnight  finds  Victorine  Gayland  sitting  before  her 
dressing-table,  looking  at  her  haggard  face  in  the  glass. 
She  has  changed  her  stage  costume  for  a  cashmere 
gown  made  with  puritan  simplicity.  Rigid  and  pale 
looks  the  small  face,  with  its  delicate  features — a  face 
that  will  assuredly  soon  age.  Dark  and  threatening  is 
the  fixed  gaze  of  the  large  hazel  eyes,  staring  into  the 
dimly-lighted  mirror  and  seeing  nothing. 

"  If  he  should  love  her,"  she  mutters,  as  if  to  some 
listening  spirit,  "  my  hatred  will  be  fatal  to  her ! " 


BEHOLD  THE  MAN.  183 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

BEHOLD      THE     MAN. 

NIGHT  over  all  things,  sweet,  mystic  night !  Around 
the  Barrier  Rock  the  waves  laving  its  rugged  sides 
were  jewelled  with  the  mirrored  stars.  What  a  sooth- 
ing lullaby  sings  the  sea  in  its  night  vigil !  In  the 
terrace  chamber  overlooking  the  expanse  of  ocean  sits 
the  master  of  the  lovely  domain.  He  hears  not  the 
sea's  song,  though  the  doors  are  wide  open  to  admit 
the  fragrant  breeze  and  the  soft  music  of  the  waves. 
He  is  quite  alone  in  the  old  place,  save  for  the  Maori 
nurse,  Rita.  This  woman  has  dogged  his  steps  almost 
night  and  day  for  months,  showing  a  face  neither 
menacing  nor  friendly  towards  him,  but  ever  on  the 
watch,  like  a  sleek  tiger-cat  waiting  for  a  spring.  A 
huge  volume  is  open  before  him  on  the  table,  the  con- 
tents of  which  completely  absorb  his  attention.  The 
book  happens  to  be  an  exhaustive  work  on  the  various 
forms  of  madness,  by  an  eminent  Spaniard — a  subtle, 
terrible  book  to  peruse,  inasmuch  as  the  pages  bristle 
with  the  devilish  acts  of  cruelty  perpetrated  on  inno- 
cent and  inoffensive  creatures  who  have  falsely  or  other- 
wise been  placed  under  the  ban  of  lunacy.  Spite  of  its 
repulsive  contents,  Fernbrook  is  held  as  by  a  spell  to  his 
reading.  Had  he  been  less  preoccupied,  perchance  he 
would  have  observed  the  entrance  of  a  strange  man, 
who  strode  quietly  into  the  radius  of  the  light,  and 
then  stood  with  folded  arms,  observing  him. 


184        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

To  many  of  us  there  is  an  indescribable  feeling  that 
warns  us  of  the  presence  of  an  enemy,  although  we 
see  him  not  with  our  eyes.  In  this  case  we  feel  rather 
than  see  that  it  is  so.  Sudden  as  the  lightning  flash, 
the  student  felt  the  presence  of  the  intruder.  Still  and 
passive  he  sat,  staring  at  the  open  page,  from  which 
all  interest  had  abruptly  gone  ;  though  he  lifted  not 
his  eyes,  he  knew  someone  stood  there,  stern  and  silent 
as  Nemesis. 

The  Master  of  Fernbrook  lifted  his  eyes  at  length, 
and  lo  !  he  beheld  a  strange  and  exact  likeness  of  him- 
self in  every  detail — height,  complexion,  features,  hair, 
look.  The  stranger  stood  there,  his  very  counter- 
part— shape  and  shadow. 

If  Hilton  Fernbrook  could  have  known  fear,  then 
must  the  sight  of  this  silent  wraith  of  himself  have 
made  him  tremble.  Not  fear  indeed,  but  the  greater 
dread,  terror,  took  possession  of  him  for  one  brief  mo- 
ment, and  made  him  gasp  for  breath.  Save  for  the 
garb  he  wore,  the  intruder  was  Hilton  Fernbrook,  as 
much  as  he  who  sat  and  stared  in  unspeakable  amaze- 
ment. If,  as  some  subtle  thinkers  affirm,  it  be  possible 
to  give  the  soul  a  glance  at  the  body  that  encrusts  it 
while  that  casing  is  under  the  influence  of  trance, 
then  was  he  whom  the  world  knew  as  the  Master  of 
Fernbrook  entranced,  for  there  he  beheld  all  that  was 
of  him  in  resemblance  of  bodily  form  standing  before 
him. 

For  a  moment  only  that  trance  lasted.  The  strong 
will  of  the  man  soon  asserted  itself  with  a  potent  sway 
over  every  other  feeling.  "How  came  you  hither?" 
he  said  to  the  stranger,  and  the  stranger  replied, 
"  The  doors  are  open.  In  the  absence  of  servants  I 
entered  unannounced,  and  by  the  door,  of  course." 


BEHOLD  THE  MAN.  185 

It  was  only  in  the  tone  of  voice  that  the  great  and 
striking  likeness  between  the  two  men  diverged.  Yet 
even  that  might  be  accounted  for,  inasmuch  as  the 
stranger  spoke  coolly  and  with  great  self-posses- 
sion, while  Fernbrook  was  hoarse  with  suppressed 
emotion. 

"  It  is  not  usual  for  gentlemen  to  walk  into  one's 
private  chamber  without  even  so  much  as  a  prepara- 
tory cough,"  said  the  latter,  regaining  fast  that  savoir 
faire  et  dire  which  was  habitual  to  him. 

"  True.  But  there  was  no  reason  why  I  should 
announce  myself.  I  am  native  here,  and  belong  to  the 
place,"  replied  he. 

"  What  insolence  is  this  ?  Who  are  you,  and  what 
is  your  business?"  cried  Fernbrook. 

"My  friend,  you  ask  questions  which  cannot  be 
answered  in  a  breath.  I  have  done  myself  the  honor 
to  return  to  Fernbrook,  after  a  long  and,  I  may  add, 
weary  absence." 

"  Indeed ! " 

"  A  man  has  surely  a  just  right  to  enter  his  own 
house  when  and  how  he  pleases,"  said  the  stranger,  not 
heeding  the  interjection.  "  I  should  have  been  in  New 
Zealand  some  few  years  ago,  had  I  not  been  involun- 
tarily detained." 

"  Ah !  against  your  will,  eh  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  as  you  say — against  my  will." 

Hilton  Fernbrook  stares  at  the  intruder,  then  rises 
and  closes  the  doors  and  windows,  which  he  fastens 
securely  on  the  inside.  This  done,  he  mounts  a  chair 
and  severs  the  bell-rope  beyond  reach.  The  stranger 
watches  him  with  indifference.  Lighting  a  cigar, 
he  walks  quietly  to  the  fireplace,  and  places  his  back 
thereto. 


186        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

"  I  trust  you  do  not  object  to  my  weed.  ?  "  he  says 
to  the  other,  who  has  seated  himself  on  the  further  side 
of  the  room,  near  a  large  writing-desk,  the  drawer  of 
which  he  opens  with  a  key. 

"  No,  I  cannot  object  to  anything  a  lunatic  may  do. 
Madmen  are  not  answerable  for  their  actions." 

"  Madmen  ?  Oh,  I  see,  your  thoughts  are  running 
on  the  book  you  have  been  reading.  The  study  of 
madness  is  not  a  very  pleasant  one,  I  take  it." 

"  It  will  be  beneficial  in  this  case.  My  reading  may 
enable  me  to  understand  you." 

"  I  doubt  it,  my  friend,"  said  the  stranger.  "  The 
truly  insane  have  one  remarkable  quality." 

"What  is  that?" 

"  The  first  and  last  idea  of  your  lunatic  is  that  all 
mankind  is  crazy  except  himself." 

"  That  is  your  idea,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  No.  I  am  addressing  one  who  has  the  cunning  of 
fifty  madmen  without  their  insanity.  That  should  be 
sufficient  illustration  to  convince  you." 

"  If  you  are  not  insane,  I  ask  again  what  brings 
you  here  ?  "  cried  Fernbrook,  in  rising  anger. 

"  Corpo  di  Bacco !  as  they  say  in  Venice.  Have  I 
not  said  that  I  have  returned  to  Fernbrook  after  an 
unavoidable  absence  ?  " 

"  Who  are  you  ? "  the  question  was  hissed  rather 
than  spoken. 

The  stranger  took  the  cigar  from  between  his  lips, 
and,  blowing  a  cloud  of  fragrant  smoke  upwards,  said  : 
"  I  am  an  unfortunate  fellow,  one  Hilton  Fernbrook, 
at  your  service." 

"  You  are  a  madman  ! "  rejoined  the  other,  after  a 
brief  pause. 

"  Tut !    You  forget  my  simile,"  said  the  stranger, 


BEHOLD  THE  MAN.  187 

regarding  his  companion  fixedly.  "  Let  me  repeat,  my 
name  is  Hilton  Fernbrook." 

"  There  are  two  of  the  same  name,  then  ?  " 

"  Not  so.  There  is  only  one  man  of  that  name  in 
New  Zealand,  and  I  am  he." 

"  Then  who  am  I,  pray  ?  " 

"I  know  not.  There  is  a  species  of  base  metal 
known  as  Brummagem  ware ;  sometimes  it  is  difficult 
to  distinguish  it  from  gold.  You  may  be  a  descendant 
of  the  Roman  Cato,  or  you  may  be  the  common  hang- 
man. Who,  in  these  times,  can  truly  judge  a  man  by 
what  he  seems  ?  " 

"  Sir,  you  are  not  complimentary." 

"  No ;  truth  has  strangled  courtesy." 

He  who  had  been  called  the  Master  of  Fernbrook 
rose  to  his  feet.  "  Look  here,  my  fine  fellow,"  he  said, 
with  a  deadly  smile ;  "  I  have  humored  your  non- 
sense long  enough.  If  you  have  any  business  with 
me,  be  kind  enough  to  state  it  as  briefly  as  possible, 
else  I  shall  begin  to  think  you  are  here  for  some  sinis- 
ter purpose." 

"  Well,  you  may  think  what  you  please.  I  am  here 
for  a  purpose." 

"  Burglary,  no  doubt,"  added  Fernbrook. 

"Wrong,  my  friend.  There  is  not  even  the  good 
name  of  the  place  left." 

"  You  are  insolent !  " 

"  Again  I  must  plead  truth  as  my  excuse,"  rejoined 
the  man,  in  his  cool  cynical  tone,  which  never  changed 
one  jot  in  its  irritating  smoothness.  "  Perchance  you 
have  heard  the  story  of  the  ass  who  put  on  a  lion's 
skin,  and,  it  not  being  sufficient  to  hide  his  ears,  he 
eked  it  out  with  the  covering  of  a  fox  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  good  at  fables.    Speak  plain." 


188        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

"Listen,  then,  to  plain  English,"  rejoined  the 
stranger.  "One  fine  day  the  unhappy  lord  of  this 
poor  manor  went  to  Europe  for  a  holiday.  During  his 
wanderings  he  made  a  friend  and  companion  of  one 
Colonel  de  Roal.  The  Colonel  was  a  man  of  the  world. 
Wise,  polished,  and  well  versed  in  all  the  arts  of  di- 
plomacy, he  had  travelled  much  and  knew  everyone  of 
note ;  such  a  man  soon  made  himself  master  of  all  that 
had  happened  in  the  simple  life  of  his  young  compan- 
ion. They  travelled  together — had  one  purse.  In 
short,  Hilton  Fernbrook  treated  and  trusted  this  man 
as  if  he  had  been  his  father.  Mark  what  follows. 
There  came  a  day,  out  in  the  Soudan,  when  the  younger 
of  these  twain  was  stricken  down  with  sunstroke. 
While  watching  by  his  delirous  companion,  there  came 
a  thought  into  the  heart  of  Colonel  de  Roal." 

"What  thought?" 

"  To  substitute  Victor  Mauprat,  a  convict,  for  the 
real  owner  of  Fernbrook.  The  idea  was  promptly 
carried  out,  and  succeeded.  The  sick  man,  raving  in 
the  throes  of  his  disorder,  was  quietly  conveyed  to  a 
lunatic  asylum;  while  the  criminal,  assisted  by  his 
confederate  the  Colonel,  managed  to  break  his  prison 
bonds,  and  they  came  here  in  company  to  reap  the 
fruits  of  their  crime." 

"  More  fables  ! " 

"Is  it  so,  Victor  Mauprat?"  responded  the  real 
Master  of  Fernbrook,  with  a  sudden  gesture  of  his 
arm.  "  Stand  up.  Place  yourself  shoulder  to  shoulder 
with  me,  here."  And  Fernbrook  turned  suddenly  to 
the  huge  mirror  opposite,  and  beckoning  his  compan- 
ion to  follow  his  example,  the  two  men  stood  looking 
at  each  other  for  several  seconds. 

"You  see  how  minutely  we  resemble  each  other. 


BEHOLD  THE  MAN.  189 

How  easy  for  the  criminal  to  step  into  the  shoes  of  the 
honest  man  !  Why,  one's  bosom  friends  would  be  at  a 
loss  to  say  positively  which  was  the  thief  and  which 
the  gentleman  under  the  circumstances." 

"  You  are  right,"  returned  Victor  Mauprat.  "  I  see 
the  advantage  the  convict  may  derive  from  his  won- 
derful likeness  to,  shall  I  say,  myself?  Luckily,  I  am 
in  possession,  and  that  in  itself  is  an  advantage  against 
usurpation." 

Fernbrook  smiled.  "  Ah,  the  fox  peeped  out  then  ! 
The  lion's  skin  will  not  serve  at  all  times,  Victor  Mau- 
prat ;  you  have  had  a  long  innings,  but  you  are  stumped 
at  last." 

The  convict  sat  down  with  a  dull  thud,  and  his  face 
worked  convulsively.  "  You  ruffian,"  he  said  hoarsely  ; 
at  the  same  time  his  hand  wandered  to  the  drawer  in 
search  of  something  hid  there.  "  Your  game  is  a  bold 
one,  but  it  is  also  perilous.  Begone  at  once  from  this 
place,  or  I  will  denounce  you  to  the  police.  You  would 
saddle  your  name  and  your  crimes  upon  me,  eh !  You 
will  find  the  hide  of  the  ass  covering  the  lion  if  you 
try  any  of  such  villainy  upon  me." 

"  Humbug !  "  said  Fernbrook,  quietly.  "  The  fox  is 
apparent  again.  Look  here;  I  have  another  trump- 
card.  It  is  I  who  will  hand  you  over  to  justice  when 
I  have  done  with  you." 

Mauprat  laughed.  "My  good  fellow,  your  impu- 
dence is  really  refreshing,"  he  said.  "  Do  you  forget 
that  I  am  master  here  ?  Although  you  are  as  like  me 
as  one  pea  is  to  another,  how  will  you  prove  that  I  am 
not  Hilton  Fernbrook?" 

"Easily  enough,"  responded  Fernbrook,  with  his 
impenetrable  coolness.  "Victor  Mauprat,  while  at 
Portland,  was  branded  on  the  shoulder  with  the  letters 


190        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

D.  C.,  for  attempting  the  life  of  a  warder.  This  brand 
the  convict  will  carry  to  his  grave,  for  it  cannot  be 
effaced.  Ha,  ha !  Does  the  ace  beat  the  knave  ?  " 

With  an  oath,  Mauprat  pulled  forth  a  revolver  from 
the  desk,  but  ere  he  could  raise  it  to  take  aim,  Fern- 
brook,  who  had  been  keenly  watching  his  companion's 
movements,  quickly  drew  forth  a  similar  weapon,  and 
covered  his  adversary. 

"  Put  down  your  hands,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  that  was 
unmistakable.  "  If  you  raise  your  finger  I  will  shoot 
you  like  a  dog.  Do  not  imagine  me  such  a  goose  as 
to  venture  into  the  hole  of  the  fox  without  due  pre- 
caution ! " 

Mauprat  laughed  again,  a  harsh  discordant  laugh, 
with  not  a  particle  of  mirth  in  it.  "  I  am  a  fool  to 
quarrel  with  him,"  he  said,  more  to  himself  than  to 
Fernbrook.  "  What  says  your  worldly  sage :  '  The 
true  way  to  success  is  to  smooth  down  all  obstacles ' 
Ay,  that  is  it,  sir,"  addressing  Fernbrook,  who 
watched  his  every  movement,  and  still  held  his  revolver 
ready  for  use.  "  Let  us  shake  hands,  and  talk  over 
this  matter  in  a  friendly  spirit." 

"No,  not  one  step  nearer,  Victor  Mauprat,"  cried 
Fernbrook,  sternly.  "I  have  prevented  you  using 
your  pistol.  I  will  also  checkmate  you  in  your  design 
to  mesmerize  me." 

A  wild  look,  like  that  of  a  savage  beast  suddenly 
caught,  came  into  the  man's  eyes.  Presently  he  sat 
down  and  said,  "  You  have  a  final  motive  in  coming 
here?" 

"Yes.  A  man  needs  no  excuse  for  taking  posses- 
sion of  his  own.  With  reference  to  yourself,  I  beg  that 
you  will  favor  me  with  your  attention  for  a  moment. 
Victor  Mauprat,  you  have  committed  many  crimes,  but 


"  Fernbrook  quickly  drew  forth  a  similar  weapon  and  covered 
his  adversary." 

— Page  190. 


BEHOLD  THE  MAN.  191 

the  last  on  your  list  is  the  greatest  of  them  all.  I  am 
not  going  to  judge  you,  nor  yet  give  you  up  to  that 
justice  which  is  clamoring  for  you,  if  you  do  my  bid- 
ding." 

"What  is  your  will?" 

"  In  that  small  trunk,"  continued  Fernbrook,  point- 
ing to  a  bag  he  had  brought  with  him  into  the  room, 
"  you  will  find  a  disguise — beard,  wig,  hat,  and  coat. 
Go  into  that  closet  to  the  right — you  see  I  know  the 
place  well — and  put  these  things  on.  Stop  one  mo- 
ment; I  will  relieve  you  of  this  dangerous  thing," 
taking  up  the  revolver.  "  You  shall  have  ten  minutes 
to  dress,  sir." 

The  man  who  had  been  known  as  the  Master  of 
Fernbrook  for  the  last  few  years  walked  slowly  across 
the  room,  and  taking  up  the  trunk,  went  towards  the 
recess  to  which  Hilton  Fernbrook  pointed.  At  the 
threshold  he  turned,  and  as  he  did  so,  his  face  was  like 
that  of  a  fallen  angel. 

"Where  shall  I  go  with  my  masquerade?"  he 
said. 

"  Out  into  the  silent  night,"  responded  Fernbrook, 
solemnly.  "  Out  where  the  stars  look  down  on  the 
good  and  the  bad.  If  you  are  not  the  convict  Mauprat, 
what  have  you  to  fear  ?  Cling  to  that  disguise  if  you 
are  he,  for  I  hold  the  hounds  of  the  law  in  leash,  and 
I  swear  to  you  I  will  slip  them  on  your  track  with  the 
first  gray  streak  of  the  coining  day.  Go !  " 

Slowly  the  tall  form  receded  within  the  closet.  In 
the  space  of  five  minutes  there  came  forth  a  rough- 
hewn  fellow,  the  picture  of  a  coasting  skipper. 

"  Ah !  my  friend  Bluff !  Glad  to  see  you,"  cried 
Hilton,  as  if  he  had  only  seen  the  man  for  the  first 
time.  "  I  trust  you  will  have  a  pleasant  trip  on  your 


192        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

return  journey  I  will  tie  the  severed  bell-rope  and 
ring  for  some  one  to  show  you  over  the  Devil's  Grip." 
He  tied  the  rope  and  rang.  Presently  Bosco,  the  Maori, 
came  stumbling  into  the  room  with  his  gun  over  his 
shoulder. 

"  Bosco,  my  good  fellow,  Captain  Bluff  wants  you  to 
conduct  him  safely  over  the  Grip." 

The  Maori  paused,  looked  at  the  Captain,  then  at 
his  master.  Rubbing  his  eyes  like  one  who  has  just 
awakened  out  of  a  long  sleep,  he  walked  up  to  where 
the  latter  was  standing,  and  kneeling  down,  kissed  his 
hand  passionately. 

"  Bosco  is  ready,"  he  said,  rising,  and  with  his  gaze 
fixed  upon  the  Captain. 

"Enough.     A  pleasant  trip,  Captain." 

A  moment,  and  Hilton  Fernbrook  stood  alone.  He 
listened  to  the  retreating  footsteps  of  the  Maori  and 
his  companion,  then  turned  and  threw  open  the  window. 
A  glorious  prospect  to  feast  his  gaze  upon  :  sea  and 
land  under  the  soft  subdued  light  of  moon  and  stars. 
Long  and  weary  days  had  passed  for  him  since  last  he 
had  looked  upon  that  picture — a  picture  lovely  indeed, 
but  it  was  the  wild  grandeur  of  frowning  Nature :  the 
rugged  peak,  with  its  uncouth  forms ;  the  sombre 
ravines,  and  the  restless  cataract  that  dashed  between. 
The  scene  before  him  was  doubtless  in  unison  with  his 
mind,  for  he  stood  there  long  in  musing  mood.  "  Dis- 
parities of  life  everywhere,"  he  muttered.  "  The  liar 
and  the  thief  has  his  place,  while  he  who  would  aspire 
to  be  good  goes  to  the  wall.  Throughout  all  humanity 
it  is  the  same.  Yonder  wretch  has  not  one  spark  of 
remorse  for  his  act.  Nay,  he  will  still  seek  to  add 
crime  upon  crime.  Disparity  again !  The  strong 
physical  will  backed  up  by  the  intellectual,  but  without 


BEHOLD  THE  MAN.  193 

one  touch  of  moral  power.  It  seems  an  impossible 
condition  that  man  shall  be  just  to  his  fellow.  Humph  ! 
Jasper  or  Gaston  de  Roal,  this  man  is  thy  pupil :  thou, 
the  deep  and  subtle  scholar  of  Europe;  thou,  who 
didst  daringly  venture  into  the  boasted  secrets  of  the 
old  Chaldeans,  and  wrest  therefrom  the  wisdom  that 
subjugates  the  senses  and  holds  the  will  of  others  in 
thrall.  Disciple  of  the  abstruse  Jean  Bringeret,  thou 
hast  mastered  the  art  of  magic ;  but  thou  hast  ignored 
that  grander  art  of  the  mind,  which  brings  religious 
faith  and  love  and  hope.  Who's  there  ?  " 

"  It  is  I — Rita,"  responded  a  quiet  voice,  and  turning, 
he  beheld  the  Maori  housekeeper.  With  a  slow  noise- 
less step  the  woman  crossed  the  room  without  a  glance 
at  him  ;  in  her  hand  she  carried  a  tray  with  wine.  "  I 
have  obeyed  the  master's  behests ;  you  ordered  wine  to 
be  brought  ere  I  retired  to  rest,"  she  said.  "  I  am  the 
servant  of  the  master,  and  await  his  orders." 

Fernbrook's  dark  face  softened  wonderfully  as  he 
looked  at  the  erect  form  of  the  old  Maori.  Without  a 
word  he  approached  her,  and  putting  his  arms  about 
her  neck,  kissed  her  passionately. 

Rita  drew  back,  surprise  depicted  in  every  line  of 
her  strongly-marked  countenance.  Rubbing  her  eyes, 
as  Bosco  had  done,  she  looked  at  him  with  a  long  and 
searching  gaze.  "  Old  Rita's  eyes  are  not  good,  or  the 
evil  spirit  Te  Torva  has  cast  his  wicked  spell  about 
her,"  she  muttered,  with  her  look  fixed  on  Hilton's 
face.  "  What  dark  trick  is  this  ?  Have  I  slept  and 
dreamed  a  dream  of  years?  Who  has  changed  the 
smooth  lying  devil  that  was  here  an  hour  ago  into  my 
heart's  pride,  my  gentle  son,  my  young  king,  my  Hil- 
ton, whom  I  suckled  for  his  dead  mother?" 

Over  the  careworn  withered  face  there  comes  a 


194        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

pallor  as  of  death,  and  a  trembling  of  the  tall  stately 
frame,  which  shook  her  like  a  reed  in  the  wind. 

"  Dear  Rita,  my  more  than  mother,  it  is  I — Hilton 
Fernbrook ! — none  other,  believe  me,"  he  cries,  in  ten- 
derest  accents. 

"  Why,  so  you  are ! "  she  cried,  clinging  to  him  with 
a  vague  terror  in  her  look  and  voice.  "  Sometimes  the 
arch-devil  Te  Torva  will  change  a  good  man  into  the 
semblance  of  himself.  For  a  long  time  I  have  seen  you 
here  beside  me,  my  boy  whom  I  loved ;  and  you  not  ray 
son,  for  when  I  looked  at  you,  the  love  went  from  my 
soul.  Yesterday  I  felt  I  hated  you  with  a  lasting 
hate.  To-night  the  love  and  tenderness  of  years  is 
in  my  heart.  Oh,  say,  why  is  this  ?  Is  poor  old  Rita 
mad?" 

"  Not  mad,  Rita.  Come,  sit  down,  and  take  a  little 
of  this  wine,"  he  said. 

"  Why  did  you  not  speak  to  me  with  that  voice,  with 
that  look,  through  all  the  long  moons  that  have  gone  ?  " 
she  asked,  not  heeding  his  words.  "  I  thought  travel 
had  made  your  heart  hard  and  cruel,  and  I  said  to 
myself,  This  is  not  my  boy,  but  some  wicked  thing  in 
his  form  and  likeness — sent  by  the  powerful  Te  Torva, 
to  punish  me  for  my  great  love  for  you." 

"  Pray  sit  down ;  you  are  ill,"  he  said  softly. 

"  It  is  very  strange  how  I  should  have  hated  you," 
she  said,  still  unheeding  what  he  said.  "  I  have 
watched  and  followed  you,  as  only  a  Maori  tracks  his 
foe.  I  was  near  you  when — when  you  betrayed  the 
English  officer  to  the  rebel  Paul  Titori  in  the  valley  of 
Pukehini.  Again  I  stood  by  you  when  you  gambled 
away  half  your  fortune  in  one  night  at  that  devil's  pit 
in  the  city.  And  again  I  saw  that  dreadful " 

"  No  more,  dear  Rita,"  he  cried,  with  uplifted  hands. 


BEHOLD  THE  MAN.  195 

"The  past  years  are  but  a  horrid  dream,  which  we 
must  forget.  Man  is  full  of  arrogance  and  vanity,  and 
betimes  there  conies  a  fierce  storm  into  his  life  which 
purges  it  of  much  that  was  foolish  and  frivolous.  It 
was  not  I  who  betrayed  Colonel  Chesterton  and  his 
men ;  I  am  not  a  gambler ;  but  because  I  was  proud 
and  selfish  a  devil  sprang  up  here  at  Fernbrook  to 
punish  me  as  well  as  you,  my  more  than  mother." 

"  Why  did  the  evil  spirit  take  your  shape,  you  who 
have  ever  been  kind  and  good  ?  "  she  asked,  with  her 
gaze  still  riveted  on  his  face. 

"  Do  not  ask  me  now  ;  to-morrow  perhaps  I  will  ex- 
plain. Pray  take  a  glass  of  wine." 

"  Nay,  I  want  it  not,  my  dear  son ;  old  Rita  is  tired, 
that  is  all,"  she  responded.  "'Tis  well  I  have  you 
here  again  beside  me.  One  word  more,  my  son:  I 
have  some  papers  and  letters  which  I  took  from 
the  trunk  of  a  man  who  calls  himself  Colonel  de 
Roal." 

«De  Roal?" 

"Ay,  so  they  name  him.  My  act  may  seem  a 
strange  one,  but  remember  I  am  a  Maori,  and  I  felt 
that  this  man  was  your  foe." 

"  Have  you  these  papers,  Rita  ?  " 

"  They  are  here,  Hilton,"  she  answered,  taking  from 
her  tamba  a  small  packet,  tied  with  a  piece  of  black 
ribbon,  and  handing  it  to  him.  "  I  have  tried  to  under- 
stand these  things,  but  they  are  all  a  mystery  with 
the  rest.  Now  I  will  seek  peace  in  sleep.  Good- 
night." 

Hilton  Fernbrook  led  the  stately  old  Maori  retainer 
to  the  door,  and  pressed  his  lips  to  her  wrinkled  brow 
with  reverential  love.  "  Good-night !  "  he  echoed, 
looking  after  her  as  she  descended  the  stair.  "  Good- 


196        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

night !  thou  brave,  faithful  servant."  Closing  the  door 
noiselessly,  he  went  back  to  where  the  book  on  mad- 
ness still  lay  on  the  table,  and  spreading  open  the 
packet  of  papers  the  nurse  had  given  him,  he  was  soon 
absorbed  in  their  thrilling  contents. 


THE  BIRD  HAS  FLOWN.  197 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE    BIRD    HAS    FLOWN. 

THE  dark  hours  of  night  move  slowly  but  surely 
round  the  dial  of  the  great  clock  at  Fernbrook.  The 
chimes  of  one  o'clock  A.  M.  rouse  the  solitary  occupant 
of  the  turret  chamber  from  his  study  of  those  papers 
given  him  by  old  Rita.  There  is  a  smile  of  satisfac- 
tion on  his  resolute  face  as  he  rises  and  thrusts  the 
documents  into  a  secure  pocket  within  his  robe. 

"  Egad !  The  business  on  the  whole  would  be  most 
farcical  if  it  were  not  for  the  tragical,  which  must 
surely  follow  as  a  natural  consequence,"  he  mutters, 
stretching  his  limbs  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  "  And  now 
I  must  try  and  put  this  disordered  house  into  some- 
thing like  its  wonted  groove.  How  shall  I  begin  ?  The 
whole  place  is  a  chaos.  Victor  Mauprat,  my  friend, 
you  have  acted  your  part  admirably,  but  you  have 
played  the  devil  with  my  property.  Ah,  well !  Life 
is  a  mystery,  and  this  little  episode  here  at  Fernbrook 
is  part  and  parcel  of  it,  I  suppose."  The  soliloquizer 
pauses  a  moment,  and  catches  a  reflection  of  himself 
in  the  mirror  opposite.  "  Ha !  there  you  are,  Hilton 
Fernbrook,  mon  anri"  cries  he,  apostrophizing  it, — 
"  the  real  Simon  Pure,  who  must  needs  confess  that  he 
had  not  brains  enough  to  carry  him  through  a  holiday 
tour  without  falling  among  thieves — and  such  rogues  ! 
De  Roal  and  Mauprat,  ye  are  the  princes  of  your  pro- 
fession !  I  have  been  your  pigeon — your  turtle-dove. 


198        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

Ah !  mes  poulets,  the  talons  of  the  hawk  have  grown 
upon  the  dove.  Why  these  idle  musings  ?  Let  me  to 
work !  " 

He  descends  by  a  private  stairway  to  a  small  room 
on  the  ground  floor,  and  looks  around  it  with  a  rapid 
survey.  "Everything  here  almost  as  I  left  it,"  he 
says,  seating  himself.  "  Five  years  is  not  much  in  a 
man's  life,  yet  five  years — nay,  five  months — may  be 
lengthened  into  as  many  centuries  with  many  of  us. 
Tut!  tut!  I  have  made  a  vow  to  blot  out  the  past 
from  every  nook  and  cranny  of  my  memory.  I  will 
think,  with  my  faithful  nurse,  that  I  have  slept  and 
dreamed.  Hi,  presto  !  Yonder  stands  my  couch  with 
its  snowy  covering,  its  chaste  and  pure  surroundings, 
even  as  when  my  dear  mother  used  to  fold  her  loving 
arms  around  me  in  prayer.  Heigho !  so  be  it !  Now 
to  business.  I  will  write  to  my  old  friend  Trevor,  and 
also  to  my  banker,  explain  matters,  then  seek  their 
advice." 

Hilton  has  not  completed  his  first  letter  ere  he  is 
interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  Bosco. 

"  The  master  will  pardon  the  Maori  for  disturbing 
him  ?"  says  the  native,  in  his  quiet  way. 

"  Of  course,  Bosco,"  replies  the  other.  "You  have 
called  to  say  that  Captain  Bluff  has  got  over  the  Grip 
in  safety." 

"Nay,"  replied  the  Maori,  "the  Pakeha  was  some- 
what obstinate.  He  would  go  no  other  way  but  over 
the  ledge  that  leads  into  the  valley  of  Tilore.  He  said 
some  of  his  men  would  be  waiting  for  him  at  Puke- 
hini  Point  with  a  boat." 

"  So  he  went  that  way  ?  " 

"Ay." 

"  Said  he  anything  at  parting,  Bosco  ?  " 


THE  BIRD  HAS  FLOWN.  199 

"  No ;  only  that  he  trusted  to  meet  the  master  soon, 
when  he  would  repay  a  little  of  the  kindness  and  con- 
sideration shown  to  him  at  Fernbrook,"  replied  the 
Maori.  "  See,  he  gave  me  these  three  golden  sover- 
eigns for  my  old  shot-gun  and  pouch.  Copi!  the 
Pakeha  is  generous." 

Hilton  Fernbrook  reflected  a  moment.  "  Bosco,  is 
your  boat  in  good  trim  ?" 

"Boat?  The  master  forgets  that  it  was  lent  to 
Colonel  de  Roal  and  his  friend  for  a  fishing  excursion, 
three  days  ago,"  replied  Bosco. 

"  How  stupid  of  me  not  to  have  remembered ! "  said 
Fernbrook,  quickly.  "  The  Colonel  has  not  returned, 
then?" 

"  No,  they  have  taken  provisions  for  a  week." 

"  Humph !  Where  have  they  gone  fishing,  good 
Bosco  ?  " 

The  Maori  hesitated.  "  The  Pakehas  said  they  in- 
tended going  to  Kauri  Island,  but  Te  Kiti  of  Whieroa, 
who  passed  Pukehini  Point  in  his  skiff  the  day  before 
yesterday,  told  me  he  saw  the  Colonel  and  his  friends 
with  the  rebel  Maoris  at  Titore." 

"  Ah  !  I  see ;  Colonel  de  Roal  is  much  interested  in 
your  countrymen,  Bosco,"  said  the  young  man,  after  a 
thoughtful  pause.  "  So  we  haven't  a  boat  about  the 
place,  eh?" 

"  Not  one  except  the  master's  cutter,"  answered  the 
Maori. 

"  The  cutter  will  do,  Bosco.     She  is  a  swift  sailer  ?  " 

•'  As  swift  as  the  « Toho.'  " 

"Good!  How  long  will  it  take  you  to  reach  the 
city  ?  " 

"  If  this  breeze  holds,  I  can  be  in  Auckland  by  the 
evening  of  to-day,"  answered  the  Maori. 


200        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

«  My  good  fellow,  get  the  boat  ready  without  delay ; 
then  return  to  me,  and  I  will  give  you  some  letters  I 
want  you  to  deliver." 

"  I  am  ready  to  do  the  master's  pleasure,"  said  the 
old  man,  going  out ;  but  he  came  back  presently  and 
stood  in  the  doorway. 

"  Well,  Bosco !  forgotten  something  ?  "  asked  Ferri- 
brook,  looking  up. 

"  No,  Bosco  never  forget,"  he  said  in  his  deep  gut- 
tural tones.  "  When  the  master  was  a  rapi  and  no 
higher  than  my  knee,  Rita  bade  me  mark  the  eagle  of 
the  Maori  on  his  fair  bosom." 

Fernbrook  laughs.  "  I  remember,"  he  says,  looking 
at  the  man  curiously  ;  "  I  have  heard  my  father  relate 
how  he  horsewhipped  you  for  your  pains,  my  faithful 
friend." 

"  Will  the  master  show  me  if  the  eagle  of  Te  Papa 
is  still  upon  his  breast  ?  " 

Hilton  Fernbrook  rises  and  lays  bare  his  muscular 
chest,  on  which  can  be  seen  the  outline  of  a  bird  tat- 
tooed. "  See,  there  is  your  handiwork,  sir,"  he  rejoins? 
with  another  laugh.  "  By  my  faith,  none  but  a  Maori 
would  ask  a  man  to  show  the  marks  upon  his  person, 
as  if  forsooth  he  were  no  more  than  a  stray  bullock,  or 
a  horse  sold  out  of  the  pound.  Now  say,  sirrah,  why 
you  have  dared  to  take  such  a  liberty  ?  " 

The  voice  is  smooth  and  soft,  but  there  is  a  strange 
gleam  in  the  eyes  the  while. 

"  I  am  a  Maori  of  the  tribe  of  Te  Papa,"  responded 
old  Bosco,  with  something  of  pride  in  his  tone.  "  Rita 
is  my  kinswoman.  Yesterday  Rita  bade  me  load 
my  gun,  go  out,  and  lie  in  wait  for  you — then  kill 
you ! " 

"  Wherefore,  good  Bosco  ?  " 


THE  BIRD  HAS  FLOWN.  201 

" '  Because,'  she  said,  '  you  were  not  the  master  she 
had  suckled,  but  a  devil,'  "  he  replies. 

"  Humph !  pleasant,  rather,"  muttered  the  young 
man,  looking  askance  at  the  sturdy  figure  before  him. 
"  So  you  intend  to  do  Rita's  bidding?"  he  asks. 

"  No  I  How  could  I  hurt  the  master  who  has  been 
a  father  to  the  Maori  through  all  these  years  ?  Bosco 
has  seen  the  eagle ;  Bosco  is  the  master's  slave  unto 
death.  I  have  spoken." 

"  Go  down  and  prepare  the  cutter.  When  the  let- 
ters are  ready,  I  will  send  them  to  you  with  my  in- 
structions." The  Maori  went  out  without  a  word,  and 
closed  the  door  noiselessly.  "  Victor  Mauprat,  you 
have  departed  none  too  soon,  man  ami"  says  Hilton  to 
himself.  "  None  so  determined,  so  ruthlessly  cruel  to 
their  enemies  as  these  Maoris  of  TePapa,  be  they  male  or 
female.  Yet,  how  faithful  and  self-sacrificing  are  they 
to  those  they  love !  Had  my  faithful  henchman  de- 
sired to  see  Te  Papa's  eagle  on  your  person,  my  clever 
Victor,  faith,  I  would  not  have  given  the  nib  of  this 
pen  for  your  life ! " 

He  sets  himself  earnestly  to  work  with  his  letters, 
and  writes  like  a  man  who  has  decided  as  to  their  con- 
tents. By  the  time  he  has  finished,  the  faint  sign  of 
dawn  begins  to  appear  on  the  horizon  away  seaward. 
He  sits  listlessly  watching  the  dark  gray  streaks 
changing  to  lines  of  brown  and  pink  and  golden  azure, 
and  then  a  blending  of  more  glorious  hues,  heralding 
the  god  of  day.  Presently  there  is  a  noise  of  feet  out- 
side— a  knock — and  Peter  Dusk,  the  detective  from 
Scotland  Yard,  enters,  accompanied  by  a  brace  of  tall 
fellows  from  the  ranks  of  the  Auckland  police. 

"  You  have  stolen  a  march  on  me,  sir,  "  says  Dusk, 
shaking  the  young  man  by  the  hand.  "We  should 


202        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

have  landed  here  at  midnight  but  for  an  accident  to 
our  sail.  My  lads,  this  gentleman  is  Mr.  Fernbrook. 
Now  get  the  things  out  of  the  lugger,  and  I'll  join  you 
presently  with  our  orders." 

Ere  the  retreating  foot-sounds  of  men  had  died 
away,  the  detective  approached  his  companion,  and 
said :  "  You  have  caged  the  bird  ?  Where  is  he  ?  " 

"He!  who?" 

"  Victor  Mauprat — the  escaped  felon — the  man  who 
placed  you  in  a  madhouse  the  other  side  of  the  globe  ; 
then  found  his  way  to  your  domain  here  to  squander 
your  inheritance  and  wreck  your  name.  Who? — by 
Jove !  "  and  Dusk's  red  eyes  glowed  like  those  of  a 
tiger-cat. 

«  My  good  friend,  you  are  heated  with  your  journey. 
Sit  down  and  take  a  little  wine,"  said  Hilton  Fern- 
brook. 

"Well,  I  like  your  cool  way  of  taking  things,  sir; 
but  business  is  business,  you  know.  Safe  bind  safe 
find — you  know  the  adage.  If  the  man  is  here,  I'll 
put  the  darbies  on  him  at  once — with  your  permis- 
sion." 

"  Victor  Mauprat  is  not  here,  if  that  is  whom  you 
mean,"  said  Fernbrook. 

"  Not  here  ? "  cried  the  detective,  with  unutterable 
disgust.  "  Have  you  allowed  him  to  escape  ?  Why, 
surely,  Mr.  Fernbrook,  you  have  not  been  mad  enough 
to  let  the  wretch  go  ?" 

"  Truly,  my  friend,  I  have,"  returned  the  other,  with 
provoking  coolness.  "  It  seems  I  was  mad  enough,  as 
you  term  it,  to  be  kept  in  durance  vile,  while  this  man 
revelled  here  in  my  stead ;  but  I  am  not  a  policeman, 
remember.  That  is  your  role,  my  good  fellow." 

Dusk  looks  at  him,  and  begins  to  scratch  his  head 


THE  BIRD  HAS  FLOWN.  203 

with  a  perplexed  air.  I  should  have  thought,  after  all 
you  have  suffered  through  this  man,  that  you  would 
have  been  glad  to  punish  him  as  he  deserves,"  says  he, 
presently. 

"  Possibly ;  but  you  see  I  may  have  a  motive  in  allow- 
ing this  man  to  depart.  It  is  your  business  to  bring 
Mauprat  to  justice,  and  I  have  an  opinion  the  work 
will  give  you  pleasure." 

"  You're  a  queer  gentleman  altogether,"  answers  the 
detective.  "  However,  if  the  bird  has  flown,  it  will  be 
better  to  be  after  him  at  once.  Now,  how  and  when 
did  he  go?" 

"  Victor  Mauprat  left  here  a  little  before  midnight. 
At  my  suggestion,  he  disguised  himself  in  that  self -same 
costume  you  kindly  lent  me  to  play  Captain  Bluff,  of 
the  clipper  barque  '  Sarah  Blake,'  in,  during  our  jour- 
ney to  the  metropolis." 

There  is  something  in  the  mere  mention  of  this  inci- 
dent which  causes  the  grim  Dusk  to  suddenly  roar  with 
laughter,  spite  of  his  apparent  annoyance. 

Fernbrook,  not  heeding  the  interruption,  continues : 
"  There  is  evidently  a  little  plot  amongst  your  friends 
De  Roal  and  his  confederates.  It  is  evident  to  me  that 
they  were  aware  of  the  danger  threatening  them,  but 
did  not  absolutely  know  that  it  was  so  near.  Three 
days  ago  the  Colonel  and  his  double,  Blake,  together 
with  the  Ferret,  departed  from  Fernbrook  bag  and  bag- 
gage." 

"  Which  way  ?  " 

"  Oh,  by  water,  of  course,  and  in  a  good  sound  fish- 
ing yawl." 

"  But  they  are  not  such  fools  as  to  put  to  sea  in  such 
a  frail  vessel  ?  "  said  Dusk. 

"  My  good  sir,  Colonel  de  Roal  is — well,  a  bad  man, 


204        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

if  you  will,  but  one  of  the  first  strategists  of  our  day. 
I  have  had  ample  proof  that  to  cope  with  him  one  must 
not  trust  to  follow  the  same  lines  as  in  ordinary  cases. 
The  Colonel  gave  out  that  they  were  going  fishing.  1 
know  for  certain  that  they  have  joined  the  rebel  Maoris 
under  Paul  Titori  in  Pukehini  Valley." 

"  Whew ! "  whistled  the  detective,  with  mouth  awry. 
"  That's  their  game,  eh  ?  And  you  let  this  man,  the 
chief  of  the  quartette,  quietly  depart  to  join  his  pals?" 

"  Even  so,"  said  Fernbrook,  in  his  cool  way.  "  I  have 
my  way  in  the  management  of  my  own  affairs ;  you  have 
yours.  So  has  every  man.  Victor  Mauprat  has  been 
gone  only  a  few  hours.  He  took  the  road  by  the  coast 
leading  to  Pukehini.  If  you  can  capture  him,  I  will 
give  you  five  hundred  pounds.  But,  understand  me 
fully,  Colonel  de  Roal  is  the  man  I  want  to  stand  face 
to  face  with." 

"  Why  the  Colonel,  sir  ?  It  seems  to  me  the  Colonel 
is  not  the  man  wanted  in  this  case." 

"  Tut !  You  are  mistaken,"  cried  Hilton,  sternly. 
"  The  convict  Mauprat,  whom  I  saw  for  the  first  time 
last  night,  may  have  spent  my  money,  ruined  my  credit, 
and  perchance  sullied  my  good  name  ;  yet,  after  all,  he 
has  been  but  the  tool  in  the  hands  of  a  more  designing 
and  accomplished  scoundrel." 

"  Humph !  What  are  your  orders  in  this  matter  ?  " 
asked  Dusk,  after  a  pause. 

"  I  have  none,  save  that  you  will  refresh  yourself 
and  extend  the  same  courtesy  to  your  men  ;  I  will  not 
hamper  you  in  any  way.  Act  as  you  think  best,  and 
rely  upon  my  influence  and  my  purse  to  aid  you." 

"  Enough  ! "  cries  the  officer,  rising  and  extending  his 
hand.  "  I  will  leave  you,  sir,  to  try  and  set  this  dis- 
ordered property  of  yours  in  order,  if  you  can.  For 


THE  BIRD  HAS  FLOWN.  205 

myself,  I  mean  to  capture  these  fellows  and  bring  them 
to  book,  even  if  I  have  to  fetch  them  out  of  the  midst 
of  the  rebel  Maori  camp." 

The  morning  glides  on  into  noon,  and  night  falls  again 
over  Fernbrook.  Dusk  and  his  men  have  departed  no 
one  knows  whither ;  while  the  distant  sail  of  Bosco's 
boat  seems  but  as  the  wing  of  a  gull. 

The  days  go  slowly  by  with  old  Rita.  It  is  true  the 
keen  wrathful  suspicion  has  left  her  face,  and  she  move* 
with  a  lighter  step  than  heretofore,  yet  the  puzzled  look 
is  still  in  her  eyes  when  they  chance  to  fall  upon  the 
person  of  her  young  master. 

The  fourth  day  sees  the  return  of  Bosco,  accom- 
panied by  the  Hon.  Bob  Trevor,  John  Warne  the 
banker,  and  Cecil  Payne,  Q.  C.,  one  of  the  soundest 
lawyers  in  the  colony.  The  party  are  conducted 
straightway  to  Hilton  Fernbrook's  private  sitting-room, 
where  stands  the  young  man  himself,  ready  to  receive 
them ;  and  here  the  four  gentlemen  hold  council,  which 
lasts  for  many  hours. 


306        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

FENCING. 

THE  fashionable  world  of  New  Zealand  were  assem- 
bled in  Shortlaud  Crescent.  War  and  rumors  of  war 
made  no  impression  on  the  upper  ten,  who  congregated 
in  the  season  at  the  Crescent — the  West  End  of  the 
Metropolis  of  Maoriland.  Paul  Titori  might  be  at  the 
gates  of  Auckland  with  his  warriors,  for  anything  the 
fashionable  world  cared.  To  them  the  motto,  "  Eat, 
drink,  and  be  merry,"  was  the  whole  of  life. 

The  mansion  of  the  Hon.  Bob  Trevor  is  all  ablaze 
with  light.  To-night  is  one  of  the  "At  Homes,"  and 
the  cards  which  admitted  to  it  bore  the  magic  word 
"  Dancing  "  in  one  corner. 

It  was  a  special  night.  The  leaders  of  bon-ton  had 
heard  of  Hilton  Fernbrook's  strange  adventures,  and 
were  assembled  to  welcome  him  back  to  the  social 
ranks. 

The  spacious  rooms  of  the  great  town  house  are  filled 
to  overflowing  for  the  occasion,  and  Lady  Blanche  is 
playing  hostess.  Near  her  stands  Victorine  Gayland, 
dressed  in  a  silk  grenadine,  with  a  dash  of  vivid  crim- 
son about  it,  a  diamond  pendant  rising  and  falling  upon 
her  white  neck,  and  on  her  shapely  arm  a  diamond  ser- 
pent glittering  like  a  circle  of  living  fire.  Beyond  the 
fair  hostess  and  her  friend  stands  the  Maori  girl,  Te 
Coro  ;  around  her  are  gathered  a  circle  composed,  for 
the  most  part,  of  officers  of  Pye's  Horse,  in  full  regi- 


FENCING.  207 

mentals.  A  ruby-colored  tamba,whose  collar  is  thickly 
studded  with  seed-pearls,  fits  her  lithe  exquisite  figure 
to  perfection.  Her  beauty,  dark  and  magnificent  as 
any  Spanish  Donna,  is  all  the  more  attractive  in  con- 
trast to  that  of  the  lovely  women  around  her.  From 
the  shy,  modest  maiden,  the  daughter  of  Te  Ranga 
seems  to  have  developed  into  the  cold  self-possessed 
woman  of  the  world  at  a  bound.  Watching  her  as  she 
converses  with  these  men,  one  can  see  that  the  great 
black  eyes  note  every  personage  and  every  object  pass- 
ing with  minute  scrutiny. 

"  Who  is  that  beautiful  Maori  ?  "  asks  Colonel  Ches- 
terton, a  young  and  distinguished  commander  of  a 
local  brigade  whose  name  has  been  on  everybody's  lips 
for  some  daring  act  against  the  rebels  at  Waitamata 
Pah. 

"  That  is  the  heiress  of  the  old  chief,  Te  Papa,  who 
bequeathed  the  lady  and  her  dowry  to  his  sister,  the 
Maori  Rita  of  Fernbrook,"  says  Captain  Hayward,  of 
the  Waikato  Rifles. 

"  What  a  splendid  girl — or  woman,  I  should  say — 
Hayward !  She  seems  to  me  like  a  lovely  picture  of 
one  of  the  old  Castilian  race,  which  has  taken  the  lib- 
erty of  walking  out  of  its  frame." 

The  Captain  laughs  behind  his  open  palm.  "  Take 
care,  Colonel ;  her  ladyship  of  Oakland  is  watching  you. 
The  eyes  of  love  are  sharp  to  detect  a  rival.  Certainly, 
Mademoiselle  Te  Coro  is  charming  enough  to  cause 
the  Lady  Alice  some  uneasiness,  if  she  could  hear  your 
praises  of  her  Maori  friend." 

The  Lady  Alice  Morton,  of  Oakland  House,  only 
daughter  of  a  millionaire,  a  lively  blonde,  not  yet 
twenty,  is  at  the  other  end  of  the  crowded  reception- 
room,  flirting  with  a  small  circle  of  admirers,  amongst 


208        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

whom  are  young  Warne,  the  yet  handsome  host,  with 
a  sprinkling  of  good-looking  young  fellows  in  dark  blue 
uniforms. 

"  Who  is  that  fellow  leaning  against  the  wall  ?  "  asks 
the  Colonel  again  of  his  aide,  fixing  his  glass  to  his  eye 
at  the  same  time  for  a  tour  of  inspection. 

"  Oh,  do  you  mean  the  tall,  dark  man,  talking  to  the 
old  banker  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  hero  of  Titore ;  "  quiet-looking, 
clean-cut  face.  He  should  be  somebody." 

"  My  dear  Colonel,  that  is  the  guest  of  the  evening — 
Fernbrook,  of  the  Barrier  Rock." 

"  By  Jove !  the  fellow  who  was  caged  in  a  mad- 
house," cries  the  other,  pulling  at  his  moustache.  "  He 
doesn't  look  like  a  man  to  be  easily  taken  in  that  way ! 
What's  the  gist  of  the  matter,  Hay  ward?" 

"A  clever  rascal — one  De  Roal — who  made  Fern- 
brook's  acquaintance  somewhere  on  the  Continent,  hap- 
pened to  have  a  relation,  or  confederate,  the  very  image 
of  our  friend  yonder  and  about  the  same  age.  The 
Frenchman  had  made  himself  pretty  well  master  of 
Fernbrook's  affairs  while  they  were  travelling  together. 
Somewhere  on  the  Nile,  Fernbrook  has  an  attack  of 
sunstroke,  and  De  Roal,  who  had  evidently  well  con- 
ceived his  scheme,  has  the  patient  conveyed  to  a  pri- 
vate lunatic  asylum.  Poor  Fernbrook  once  out  of  the 
way,  the  confederate  assumes  the  name  of  Hilton  Fern- 
brook,  betakes  himself  to  New  Zealand,  and  at  once 
takes  possession  of  the  Barrier  Rock  Estate." 

"The  whole  thing  is  as  sensational  as  one  of  Mrs. 
Wood's  novels,"  says  the  Colonel. 

"  It  is  true.  I  had  the  details  of  the  matter  from  my 
friend  Lyndhurst,"  responds  Hay  ward. 

"  And  the  impostor — who  is  he  ?  " 


FENCING.  209 

"  An  escaped  convict ;  Victor  Mauprat  by  name." 

"  Also  a  Frenchman  ?  " 

"I  believe  so.  The  subtle  rogue  has  made  ducks 
and  drakes  of  Fernbrook's  money,  I  hear.  Ah,  Lynd- 
hurst,  my  dear  fellow,  how  are  you  ?  "  cried  Hay  ward, 
breaking  off  the  narration  abruptly,  to  shake  hands  with 
the  new-comer.  "Where  is  Mrs.  Lyndhurst?  I  am 
dying  to  be  introduced.  Colonel,  allow  me  to  present 
to  you  the  coming  literary  Nestor  of  the  Antipodes." 

"  Glad  to  know  you  personally,  Lyndhurst,  though 
I  have  made  your  acquaintance  before,"  answers  the 
military  magnate,  with  an  affable  smile.  "  I'm  not 
much  of  a  bookworm — no  time  for  that,  you  know ;  but 
I've  read  your  last  work  with  a  considerable  amount  of 
pleasure.  Ah !  Glenvale,  how  do,  dear  boy  ?  What  a 
devil  of  a  crush  !  " 

The  small  talk  becomes  general  and  incessant,  and 
upon  all  manner  of  subjects.  There  is  a  perfect  babel 
of  tongues,  in  which  queer  sentences  and  abrupt  ex- 
clamations burst  on  the  ear  in  confused  and  unintelli- 
gible jargon. 

Alton  Lyndhurst  moves  away  towards  a  group  of 
ladies,  amongst  whom  is  his  beautiful  wife.  This  is 
her  first  public  appearance  since  their  marriage,  three 
months  ago.  The  novelist  and  his  bride  have  spent  a 
happy  honeymoon  at  the  Mount,  and  have  returned  to 
begin  the  hard  stern  business  of  life  in  a  small  but 
pretty  villa  overlooking  the  Waitamata.  The  first  to 
wish  the  newly-married  pair  congratulations  is  Mrs. 
Gayland.  All  traces  of  the  fierce  passion  that  marked 
her  last  meeting  with  her  old  love  have  vanished  from 
the  charming  attractive  face,  which  now  smiles  in 
witching  fondness  on  the  woman  who  has  supplanted 
her. 
14 


210        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

Masks  and  faces  make  up  the  tout  ensemble  of  the 
crowd,  but  I  fear  the  masks  are  in  the  majority.  If 
one  gifted  with  the  power  of  Asmodeus  could  for  a 
brief  moment  lift  the  subtle  covering  of  the  mind  and 
heart  from  such  a  congregation,  how  astonished  he 
would  be!  What  pain  arid  doubt  and  despair,  hid 
away  beneath  the  gentle  word,  the  soft  smile ! 

Amos  Ward,  Mayor  of  Auckland,  stands  solitary, 
watching  but  one  figure  in  the  vast  assembly.  He  has 
been  standing  in  the  same  place,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  same  woman,  for  the  last  half-hour.  There  are  so 
many  notables  present  that  his  worship  is  altogether 
nobody  on  the  occasion.  If  there  be  power  of  attrac- 
tion in  one  person  looking  intently  at  another,  then 
must  Victorine  Gayland  have  felt  that  power,  and  have 
beheld  him  who  watched  her  with  such  absorbed  at- 
tention. Alas !  the  charming  Queen  of  Society  saw 
nothing  beyond  the  person  of  Maud  Lyndhurst.  Even 
in  a  crowd  a  man  cannot  remain  in  one  position  long 
without  being  observed  in  turn. 

Designing  mammas,  who  would  have  welcomed  the 
rich  plebeian  as  a  son-in-law,  shrug  their  bare  shoul- 
ders and  smile  behind  their  fans  as  they  note  him. 

"  The  man  is  a  born  fool  to  be  so  enthralled  by  a 
conceited  puss  who  cares  no  more  for  him  than  the 
man  in  the  moon,"  they  whisper.  "  Ah !  there's  Ward 
mooning  over  the  fair  widow  again,"  says  Captain  Fop- 
top  to  Gus  Playfair,  his  friend.  By-and-by  the  crowd 
extend  over  the  roomy  mansion,  some  to  play,  others 
to  drink  and  talk,  many  to  dance — for,  in  spite  of  the 
high-caste  gathering,  dancing  is  evidently  not  beneath 
the  dignity  of  the  elite. 

If  Amos  Ward  had  been  invited  to  occupy  that  post 
by  the  window  and  do  nothing  else,  he  could  not  have 


FENCING.  211 

performed  the  duty  with  more  patient  zeal.  Beautiful 
women  and  handsome  men  whirled  here  and  there,  and 
flitted  by  in  the  soft  mazes  of  waltz  and  polka.  Yet 
he  stirred  not.  Marriageable  girls  would  have  dis- 
lodged him  hours  ago,  but  they  knew  his  secret — their 
labor  would  have  been  in  vain. 

Twelve  o'clock — midnight,  and  the  young  widow  is 
wafted  near  him,  with  Colonel  Chesterton  for  her 
partner.  Almost  by  his  side  they  stop,  with  an  excla- 
mation from  the  lady.  "  I've  torn  my  dress,  Colonel," 
said  Victorine,  petulantly. 

"Eh?  What?"  panted  the  gallant  son  of  Mars, 
putting  his  glass  up  with  a  jerk.  "  What's  to  be  done  ?  " 

"I  must  get  a  pin,"  she  responds,  with  a  smile. 
"  Have  you  one,  Colonel  Chesterton  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  I'll  get  you  one,"  he  replies. 

"  Thank  you !  " 

The  officer  goes.  Victorine  looks  up,  and  meets  the 
gaze  of  Amos  Ward.  "Mr.  Ward,"  she  cries,  "when 
did  you  arrive?  Why  do  you  not  dance? " 

He  looked  at  the  slim  figure  a  moment  in  silence. 
His  eyes  were  fine,  and  he  could  venture  to  perform 
the  experiment  without  giving  offence.  "Alas  !  I  have 
no  dress  to  tear,"  he  responds,  still  looking  at  her. 

Victorine  let  her  flowers  fall,  and  turned  the  brace- 
let on  her  arm,  and  so  they  stood  for  a  time  in  perfect 
silence,  until,  looking  up,  she  met  his  fixed  gaze  with 
her  lustrous  eyes. 

"You  have  not  answered  my  question,"  she  says, 
with  a  faint  smile  on  her  delicate  lips. 

"  I  was  just  wondering  whether  you  really  wished 
me  to  answer  it,"  he  said  coolly.  "  I  mean  truthfully, 
of  course.  I  know  that  any  commonplace  excuse  would 
do ;  but  do  you  want  the  truth  ?  " 


212        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

"  Oh,  please,  let  me  have  the  truth,  by  all  means, 
she  cries,  with  an  arch  lifting  of  her  eyelids. 

"  Well,"  he  says  slowly,  "  I  do  not  dance,  because 
there  is  only  one  lady  in  the  room  I  care  to  dance  with, 
and  I  am  quite  aware  that  I  stand  no  chance  of  secur- 
ing her  for  a  partner." 

She  did  not  pretend  to  be  ignorant  of  what  he  meant. 
Victorine  Gayland  was  too  clever,  too  superb  a  creature 
for  small  affectations. 

"  You  mean  me  ?  " 

"I  mean  you,"  he  responds,  inclining  his  head. 

"  And  how  did  you  know  that  you  could  not  dance 
with  me,  O  most  potent  seer  ? "  she  retorts,  forced  a 
little  nearer  to  him  by  the  onrush  of  a  dragoon  and  his 
partner. 

"  By  experience,"  he  replies.  Then  adds  hastily  : 
"  Take  care,  or  you  will  be  crushed  to  death." 

And  he  drew  aside  to  make  room  for  her  in  a  little 
recess,  which,  when  there  was  no  dancing  about, 
sheltered  a  marble  statuette.  So  they  stood  close 
together — so  close,  that  the  faint  fragrance  of  some 
perfume  in  her  hair,  or  on  her  face,  rose  and  surrounded 
him,  making  his  heart  beat  as  assuredly  nothing  else  in 
all  the  wide  world  could  make  it  beat. 

"  By  experience,"  he  resumed,  just  glancing  down  at 
her,  and  then  speaking  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
opposite  wall,  so  that  any  watcher  could  scarcely  have 
noticed  that  he  had  been  speaking  at  all.  "  Last  night 
at  Colborne's,  although  I  lost  my  dinner  to  be  amongst 
the  first-comers,  I  waited  for  you,  and  found  that  your 
card  was  full — you  filled  it,  I  presume,  on  the  stair  ? 
The  Thursday  previous,  at  Madame  Vipont's,  you  were 
too  tired  to  dance  with  me.  Not  caring  to  woo  a 
refusal  and  another  disappointment  to-night,  here  I 


FENCING.  213 

stand,  like  a  modern  Diogenes,  and  watch  the  world 
dancing,  while  I  amuse  myself  by  eating  my  heart  out 
with  envy,  hatred,  and  all  uncharitableness  !  " 

"You  must  be  enjoying  yourself,"  she  answers  in  a 
low  tone,  into  which  she  manages  to  infuse  a  subtle 
intonation,  which  makes  for  him,  as  it  had  made  for 
others,  a  strange  and  mystic  attraction. 

"  I  enjoy  myself  after  my  own  fashion,"  he  says,  with 
smiling  irony.  "  You  dance  so  exquisitely — as  you  do 
every  thing  else — that  it  is  a  keen  enjoyment  to  see  you 
waltzing  with  other  men,  and  to  know  that  there  is  no 
chance  for  me." 

The  gleaming  serpent  upon  her  arm  flashed  shafts 
of  rose,  green,  and  azure  blue,  as  she  took  up  the  ele- 
gant ball  programme  and  looked  down  it  musingly. 

"  Here  is  one  dance  vacant — that  which  you  covet  so 
bitterly.  You  do  not  deserve  it,  because — you  have — 
not  asked  for  it." 

"  The  wretch  who  is  found  dead  on  the  pavement  for 
want  of  a  meal  doesn't  deserve  to  live  because  he  has 
not  asked  Sir  Thomas  Morton  to  take  him  home  to 
dinner.  Well ! " 

"  Ah !  I  have  been  quite  mistaken.  I  have  no  dance 
disengaged.  My  card  is  full — quite  full,"  she  says  in 
the  same  low  voice. 

"Of  course;  I  knew  that,"  he  exclaimed,  with  a 
laugh.  "Better  let  me  go  in  search  of  the  gallant 
Colonel ! " 


214        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

VICTORINE  GAYLAND'S  AGONY. 

"  BETTER  let  me  find  the  gallant  Colonel  and  bring 
him  back  to  you,"  he  went  on.  "Then  I  will  go  home 
and  bless  the  fate  that  has  ordained  me  -to  be  a  specta- 
tor of  other  people's  enjoyments,  and  have  none  of  my 
own." 

His  irony  brings  a  proud  flush  to  Victorine  Gayland's 
pale  face ;  but  she  smiles,  and  answers  quietly :  "  What 
a  pity  it  is  that  I  could  not  keep  my  card  empty  for 
you  all  night !  It  would  have  been  the  very  acme  of 
good  breeding  to  meet  every  gentleman  who  asked  me 
to  dance  with  the  reply,  'Pardon  me,  sir,  I  am  waiting 
for  his  Worship  the  Mayor  of  Auckland  to  select  the 
first  waltz,  &c.' " 

He  looks  down  at  her,  admiration  for  her  beauty 
shining  fiercely  in  his  eyes.  "Well,"  he  says,  "will 
you  or  will  you  not  ? " 

"Ah!  my  money  or  my  life!"  she  retorts,  in  fine 
mockery  of  his  tone  ;  "  you  are  bitter  and  unjust,  your 
Worship,  and  do  not  deserve  consideration.  Let  me 
see  :  you  shall  put  your  pencil  through  young  Dash- 
wood's  name,  and  write  your  own  in  its  place.  As  an 
old  friend,  he  will  pardon  the  liberty  we  take  with  his 
name." 

His  broad  strong  face  lights  up,  and  for  the  first  time 
a  dash  of  color  spreads  over  it  as  he  offers  her  his 
arm.  "  You  are  right,"  he  whispers  in  her  ear ;  "  I  am 


VICTORINE  GAYLAND'S  AGONY.  215 

bitter  and  angry,  I  know,  but  I  have  a  plea  for  it  all. 
Let  me  ask  you  to  put  yourself  in  my  place " 

"  If  your  place  is  where  you  have  been  standing  all 
the  evening,  I  had  rather  not,  thanks !  "  It  was  her 
way  to  adopt  this  style  of  matchless  fence,  when  Vic- 
torine  Gayland  wished  to  disarm  her  adversary  with- 
out absolutely  giving  the  covp-de-grace. 

"Will  you  ever  be  serious  with  me?"  he  asked, 
pleadingly.  "  Am  I  always  to  be  a  target  for  your 
banter?" 

She  laughs  pleasantly.  "  Your  Worship,"  she  cries, 
mockingly,  "  life  is  one  huge  stage  for  folly,  and  what 
you  please  to  term  banter  is  the  only  garb  in  which  its 
votaries  clothe  themselves.  Your  wisest  sages  say : 
'  'Tis  better  to  smile  than  to  frown.'  To  be  serious  is 
to  pull  the  button  from  the  foil  of  your  friendly  an- 
tagonist, and,  while  your  arm  but  marks  the  spot  where 
the  point  has  been  upon  his  body,  his  weapon  pierces 
the  heart!" 

"  I  know  nothing  of  fencing,"  he  answers,  gravely. 

"  Become  an  actor,  and  you  will  soon  learn  the  use 
of  foils,"  she  says,  with  another  laugh  that  has  a  sound 
as  of  the  rippling  of  some  cool  rivulet. 

"And  join  the  corps  at  the  Bandoline ?  "  he  adds. 

"  No ;  that  is  not  necessary,  Mr.  Ward.  There  are 
far  cleverer  players  off  the  mimic  stage  than  on  it. 
To  be  an  actor,  one  needs  only  to  study  mankind  as 
we  meet  them  day  by  day.  The  stage  is  but  a  poor 
grotesque  cartoon  of  its  great  archetype,  the  world — • 
that  is  all !  " 

"  Is  it  ?  Probably  it  may  be  as  you  say,  but  in  my 
case  the  world  has  been  real  enough  with  me.  I 
shall  never  be  an  actor,  inasmuch  as  I  know  that 
you " 


216        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

With  a  quick  raising  of  her  bright  eyes,  she  uses  her 
foil  again.  "  I  know  that  all  the  rest  of  the  people  are 
dancing,  and  we  are  standing  still,"  she  interrupts. 
"  Really,  I  do  not  think  you  were  half  as  anxious  as 
you  pretended  to  be." 

He  takes  her  hand  in  his,  long  and  slender  and 
supple  in  its  sheath  of  soft  kid,  and  they  mingle  in 
one  of  Pizar's  dreamy  waltzes.  There  are  no  better 
dancers  in  the  room  amongst  her  sex  than  Yictorine 
Gayland ;  and  Amos  Ward,  though  he  is  a  self-made 
man,  and  somewhat  large  in  person,  is  fairly  in  unison 
and  sympathy  with  time  and  music,  which  alone  make 
proper  dancing.  The  flush  on  his  cheeks  grows 
deeper  and  his  eyes  glow  as  he  bends  over  her,  but 
her  face  is  cold  and  passionless  as  the  marble  bust 
of  Pallas.  The  dance  over,  he  leads  her  out  of  the 
crowd. 

"There  is  Dash  wood,  the  man  you  have  robbed," 
she  says,  pointing  with  her  fan  towards  a  tall  youth 
in  uniform.  "  I  see  him  approach,  to  cover  me  with 
shame  and  confusion.  Pray  stand  between  me  and  his 
just  wrath." 

"  I  will  fling  the  puppy  out  of  the  window,  if  you 
like,"  he  says,  absently. 

"  Poor  boy !  Deprive  him  of  his  life  as  well  as  his 
dance  ?  "  she  replies,  smiling.  "  And  now  you  will  go 
and  make  yourself  pleasant  to  some  one,  please.  There 
is  a  pretty  little  thing  in  turquoise  blue ;  let  me  in- 
troduce you." 

"  I  shall  go  home  now,"  he  answers,  in  his  clear  low 
voice,  as  calmly  as  if  he  had  declined  a  glass  of  wine. 
"  I  have  had  my  one  dance,  and  am  very  grateful  to 
you.  I  can  guess  how  much  it  has  cost  you  to  humor 
me,  for  I  have  seen  more  than  one  pair  of  eyes  look- 


VICTORINE  GAYLAND'S  AGONY.  217 

ing  your  way  reproachfully.  I  will  say  good-night, 
and  take  you  to  your  next  partner.  Who  is  it?" 
And  he  takes  the  card  hanging  by  a  silken  cord  to  her 
waist. 

"  You  are  certainly  not  very  gallant,  and  I  can  see 
vou  are  in  a  hurry  to  be  rid  of  me.  Why  should  you 
go  now  ?  " 

"  Because  I  cannot  endure  to  see  you  play  the  Lady 
Beautiful  with  these  others."  And  his  cold  gaze  swept 
the  room  with  bitter  disdain. 

"  You  are  unjust,  and  decidedly  unpleasant ! "  she 
remarks,  with  her  thin  lips  arched  in  scorn. 

"  Perhaps ;  it  seems  to  me  an  utter  impossibility  to 
be  pleasant  when  I  am  by  your  side,"  he  says.  "  I  feel 
that  the  airy  fool's  talk  that  comes  so  easy  when  I  am 
in  the  company  of  other  women,  falters  and  falls  dead 
when  I  draw  near  you.  There  is  only  one  thing  I  can 
ever  say  to  you — only  one  speech  my  lips  can  frame 
with  truth  and  honor." 

The  fair  lovely  face  beneath  his  ardent  gaze  grows 
suddenly  hard,  and  almost  stern  in  every  line,  while 
the  eyes  glow  with  a  strange  unearthly  brilliancy.  "  I 
regret  you  have  neglected  the  art  of  fence,"  she  an- 
swers. "  A  gentleman  in  these  days  is  but  half- 
educated  who  has  left  it  out  of  his  accomplishments. 
Come,  give  me  your  arm,  out  of  the  reach  of  the  eyes 
and  ears  around  us." 

Close  by,  there  is  a  wide  alcove  of  ferns  and  tall 
shrubs,  with  a  fountain  in  the  midst,  whose  cooling 
spray,  spouting  upward,  falls  with  a  thousand  rays 
of  parti-colored  light  beneath.  Amos  Ward  and  his 
companion  move  into  the  arbor.  Here  they  can  see  all 
that  is  going  on,  but  they  are  out  of  earshot.  "  The 
one  speech  that  has  been  upon  my  tongue  and  in  my 


218        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

heart  for  years  you  will  not  let  me  speak,"  he  says 
presently. 

She  looks  up  at  him  now  with  not  a  trace  of  emotion 
in  her  proud  face.  "  From  Adam  downward,  men 
have  always  had  some  absurd  idea,"  she  responds 
slowly.  "  Pray,  what  is  this  impossible  crotchet  which 
disturbs  you  ?  " 

He  inclines  his  head  with  the  lips  drawn  tightly  to- 
gether. "  Ah  !  I  feel  that  which  you  term  a  crotchet 
is  an  utter  impossibility,"  he  answers  presently,  but  in 
an  altered  tone.  "  I  have  read  somewhere  that  love  is 
only  another  name  for  selfishness." 

"  Love !  "  she  added  mockingly.  "  What  has  love  to 
do  with  us?" 

"  Everything — with  one  of  us,  at  least,"  he  cried  pas- 
sionately. "  Victorine,  I  love  you  better  than  I  have 
ever  loved  anything  upon  this  earth." 

"  Pooh,  sir  !  Is  this  the  one  little  speech  you  were 
forbidden  to  say  ? "  she  responded  in  cold,  sarcastic 
tones.  "  You  forget  how  many  times  you  have  uttered 
it  in  the  past." 

"  Victorine,  do  not  drive  me  altogether  mad,"  he 
pleaded. 

"  I  should  be  sorry  to  do  so,  sir ;  but  if  you  raise 
your  voice  like  that,  I  must  leave  you." 

"  Not  yet,"  he  cried.  "  If  I  ever  pleaded  for  that 
which  is  more  dear  to  me  than  my  worthless  life,  I 
must  do  it  now." 

She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  and  stopped  the 
torrent  of  his  words.  "  Amos  Ward,  you  have  been  a 
true  friend — almost  a  brother  to  me,"  she  said  softly, 
and  looking  at  him  with  her  magnetic  eyes.  "For 
over  a  year  I  have  seen  the  silent  growth  of  this  in- 
fatuation in  you,  and  I  have  prepared  myself  for  this  mo- 


VICTORINE  GAYLAND'S  AGONY.  219 

ment.  Nay,  be  silent  and  listen.  I  am  not  callous  or 
heartless,  but  I  can  never  be  to  you  other  than  a  friend 
and  sister.  You  are  a  man  of  the  world,  and  can  under- 
stand when  one  like  myself  takes  off  her  daily  mask 
to  speak  the  simple  truth." 

.He  stood  staring  at  her  without  uttering  a  word,  the 
perspiration  standing  on  his  brow  in  glistening  beads. 
Voices  approaching  at  length  roused  him. 

"  So,  this  is  the  end  of  it ! "  he  muttered,  with  some- 
thing like  a  groan  of  pain,  that  seemed  to  find  an  in- 
stant echo  in  the  heart  of  the  woman  at  his  side. 

She  took  his  strong  hand  in  her  soft  gloved  palms. 
"  I  am  truly  sorry  to  see  you  suffer.  If  my  poor  exist- 
ence could  atone,  and  bring  you  back  to  what  you 
were  before  you  knew  me,  I  would  freely  lay  it  down 
this  moment." 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment ;  then,  yielding  to  some 
uncontrollable  emotion,  drew  her  soft  form  to  his  breast 
and  implanted  a  kiss  on  her  smooth  white  brow. 

"  God  help  us  both !  "  he  said.  "  I  see  it  all  now — 
all,  all,  my  poor  child!  From  henceforth  I  will  be 
your  brother  in  earnest,  to  watch  over  you — to  help 
you — for  I  feel  my  love  has  that  in  it  which  will  con- 
quer all  the  baser  dross  which  encrusts  worldly  affec- 
tion. To-morrow,  or  next  day,  or  next  week,  I  shall 
have  found  means  to  ease  the  nameless  pain  here  at 
my  heart." 

"  And  we  shall  be  friends  as  of  old  ?  " 

"  Ay,  closer  than  of  old,  my  girl.  And  now  I  will 
say  good-night ! " 

There  is  a  short  firm  grip  of  the  delicate  hand, 
which  almost  crushes  the  slender  bones  together,  and 
Amos  Ward  has  vanished  out  of  the  maze  and  whirl  of 
noted  men  and  beautiful  women — out  under  the  stars. 


220        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

Phil  Brock,  valet  and  confidential  man  to  his  Wor- 
ship, notes  the  sudden  exit  of  his  master,  and  flies 
after  him  down  the  silent  street. 

"  What  the  devil  does  your  honor  mane  by  going 
home  widout  the  carriage  ?  "  cries  Phil,  in  his  inelegant 
way,  running  breathlessly  after  his  master. 

Amos  Ward  turns  and  sees  his  faithful  factotum : 
"  Oh,  I  had  forgotten  all  about  the  trap,  Phil." 

"  In  coorse ;  ye'll  be  forgetting  all  about  yerself 
nixt,"  grumbled  Phil. 

"Go  back  and  tell  Thompson  to  take  the  carriage 
home ;  I  shall  not  want  it.  I  am  going  to  walk." 

"  Arrah !  walk  is  it  ?  An'  this  time  o'  night  ?  Indade, 
ye'll  do  no  such  thing.  Hear  that  now !  "  cried  Phil. 
"It  will  be  laid  up  wid  influenza  ye'll  be,  an'  the 
devil  of  a  foine  time  I'll  be  having  of  it  nursing  you." 

The  Mayor  of  Auckland  burst  out  laughing. 

"Troth,  it's  a  fine  thing  to  be  laughing  at  a  poor 
spalpeen  whose  ould  legs  is  aching  all  over  waiting  for 
ye,"  cried  Brock.  "  Not  a  bite  or  sup  has  gone  down 
my  throttle  this  blessed  night.  Bad  cess  to  the  whole 
box  and  dice  of  them,  I  say." 

"  Go  back  and  ride  home  with  Thompson,  Phil.  At 
home  you  can  help  yourself." 

"  Och,  the  devil  a  toe  I'll  go  back,"  retorted  the  old 
fellow,  hotly.  "  It's  dressing  me  up  like  a  flunkey 
ye'll  be  doing  nixt,  an'  sticking  me  on  a  boord  behind, 
like  a  stuffed  pay  cock.  I'll  not  go  back.  Mind,  now !  " 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  replied  the  Mayor,  good-humoredly. 
"If  you  won't,  Avell,  I  must,  that's  all.  The  horses 
can't  stay  out  all  night." 

"  Just  hear  him ! "  cried  Phil,  appealing  to  the  moon. 
"Here's  an  ungrateful  omadhaun  for  ye!  Thinking 
more  of  a  poor  brute  baste  than  of  the  unfortunate 


VICTORINE  GAYLAND'S  AGONY.  221 

craythur  that  nursed  him  when  he  was  a  snivelling 
bit  of  a  devil — no  bigger  than  my  arrin !  " 

"  Be  quiet,  Phil." 

"  I  will  not ;  ye  were  a  snivelling  devil,  an'  what's 
more,  the  ugliest  baby  man  ever  saw,  or  woman  either, 
for  the  matter  of  that.  Shure,  you  were  the  color  of  a 
brick." 

The  Mayor  of  Auckland  burst  out  laughing,  spite 
of  his  annoyance.  "  You  have  an  excellent  memory, 
Phil,"  he  said,  looking  at  his  henchman  in  perplexity. 

"  Have  I,  now  ?  Well,  the  devil  thank  me  for  that 
same.  It's  a  good  score  of  reckonin'  I  have  agin'  some 
people.  Now  go  on ;  take  your  walk  in  pace.  But, 
mind  now,  if  you're  rnurthered  on  the  way,  don't  be 
coming  home  an'  blaming  me,  that's  all.  An'  now  I'll 
just  tell  that  great  stupid  spalpeen  of  a  coachman 
what  I  think  of  him,"  muttered  Phil  Brock,  wheeling 
round  and  retracing  his  steps  the  way  he  had  come. 

Amos  Ward  goes  his  way  through  the  silent  night. 
That  fair  picture  of  Victorine  Gayland  thrust  out  all 
baser  matter  from  his  brain.  He  yet  feels  the  dainty 
perfume  floating  about  him,  feels  the  soft  strange  eyes 
reflected  on  his  innermost  heart.  It  is  something  to 
have  felt  her  breath  on  his  hair — to  have  held  for  one 
brief  second  of  time  the  yielding  graceful  form  in  his 
arms. 

The  last  guest  has  departed.  The  lights  are  out  in 
the  large  ball-room.  Silence  reigns  around.  Victorine 
Gayland  sits  alone  in  that  one  little  room  in  her  magni- 
ficent house  at  Parnell,  which  is  to  her  a  sort  of  study, 
and  far  from  the  noise  and  clatter  of  the  street.  An 
hour  ago  she  was  interpreting  Beethoven  to  an  admir- 
ing circle;  now  she  is  drooping  and  pale,  with  that 


222        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

ivory  whiteness  in  her  face  which  is  only  seen  on  the 
faces  of  those  who  are  hand-in-hand,  with  death. 
There  has  come  to  her  within  the  hour  a  gradual  but 
appalling  change.  The  small  mouth  is  set  hard  with 
firm  resolve;  the  magnificent  eyes  are  dull  and  weary, 
the  white  arms  listless  like  pieces  of  carved  marble  in 
her  dark  dressing  gown.  The  maid  enters  to  brush 
her  mistress's  hair.  "I  shan't  want  you  to-night, 
Sheldon,"  she  says,  without  looking  up,  "  I  am  tired ; 
see  that  no  one  disturbs  me." 

The  maid  goes  out  without  a  word,  and  closes  the 
door  noiselessly. 

Presently  the  little  silver  clock  on  the  mantel  chimes 
two.  "  Tempus  fugit"  mutters  Mrs.  Gayland,  rising 
with  almost  a  stagger  in  her  gait,  and  a  perceptible 
shudder  which  shakes  her  slender  frame.  "  Must  I  do 
it,  after  all  ?  Must  I  die  ?  It  is  the  only  thought  of 
the  unhappy.  We  fly  to  death  for  relief  and  oblivion. 
Ah,  me !  alas  !  " 

There  is  an  exquisite  piece  of  furniture,  in  the  shape 
of  a  French  writing-desk  inlaid  with  mother-of-pearl, 
near  the  window,  which  she  unlocks  with  a  small  gold 
key,  fastened  to  her  girdle.  Within  it  lie  costly  gems 
and  trinkets  in  careless  profusion.  From  a  recess  hid 
away  in  one  corner  of  the  cabinet,  which  opens  with 
a  spring,  she  takes  out  a  letter,  already  addressed, 
together  with  a  tiny  phial  containing  about  a  table- 
spoonful  of  a  dark  thick  fluid.  She  places  these  on  the 
table,  and  stands  with  her  hands  clasped  before  her. 

"  And  I  had  prepared  this  for  my  rival,"  she  con- 
tinues, looking  at  the  phial  with  another  shudder, — 
"  for  the  pure  and  innocent  wife — his  wife !  Faugh ! 
That  was  a  cowardly  thought.  If  I  cannot  have  his 
love,  I  will  have  death — for  there  is  no  remembrance — 


VICf  ORINE  GAYLAND'S  AGONY.  223 

there.  Who — who  shall  say  that  Victorine  Hargrave 
was  a  murderess?  Nay,  it  were  better  a  thousand 
times  to  be  a  suicide.  Heaven  forgive  me ! " 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  fierce  temporary  in- 
sanity that  had  taken  possession  of  the  unfortunate 
woman.  In  everything  about,  even  to  the  writing  of 
the  sealed  letter  on  the  table,  which  bore  the  address 
of  her  old  lover,  Alton  Lyndhurst,  there  were  traces  of 
a  calm,  deliberate  plan  for  self-destruction. 

The  idea  had  not  come  to  her  suddenly.  It  was  the 
growth  of  many  weeks,  in  which  morbid  fancy  had  held 
sway  within  her.  Her  first  thought  was  to  steal  from 
her  home,  disguised  in  humble  garb,  and  cast  herself 
into  the  broad  waters  of  the  Waitamata.  They  would 
not  miss  her  for  hours,  perchance  days,  and  in  that 
time  the  sea  would  have  hid  her  forever.  In  the  evil 
spirit  of  her  madness  she  had  sallied  forth  on  her  dread 
errand.  Silently  she  had  passed  through  the  entrance- 
hall,  down  the  flight  of  steps,  and  into  the  park  beyond. 
She  walked  as  quickly  as  she  could,  but  her  disguise 
was  ill-fitting  and  clumsy.  She  became  exhausted,  and 
sat  down  to  rest.  The  night  was  beautiful,  and  as 
she  sat,  there  came  to  her  a  dream  of  the  old  cottage  on 
the  cliff.  She  saw  it  in  all  its  charming  beauty  of  site 
and  garden,  where  the  waves  rang  out  their  artillery 
at  the  base.  She  seemed  to  see  the  setting  sun  over 
the  noble  bay,  with  ships  passing  to  and  fro  upon  its 
bosom,  while  overhead  a  sea  of  great  crimson  clouds 
rolled,  lurid  with  gold,  whose  light  lay  upon  the  grand 
old  trees  and  the  grass. 

She  sees  all  this  again  to-night.  Nay,  more !  She 
sees  the  tall  gaunt  form  of  a  man  walking  the  long 
pier,  whereby  she  is  balked  in  her  fell  purpose. 

She  cannot  live  with  her  broken  heart.    If  by  going 


224        THfi  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

forth  and  lying  on  the  dewy  ground  she  could  yield  up 
her  life,  it  would  be  well  with  her.  She  would  lie 
down  with  a  smile  upon  her  lips. 

Not  of  to-day  nor  yesterday,  this  terrible  thought  of 
self-destruction :  with  the  bells  that  had  rung  on  Alton 
Lyndhurst's  wedding  morning  the  thought  had  come 
like  a  lurking  devil,  only  biding  his  time  to  enter. 
This  subtle  principle  of  evil  was  there  while  she  fenced 
and  foiled,  and  sang  and  charmed — heightening  her 
resplendent  beauty  that  attracted  the  gilded  moths 
who  dreamed  not  of  the  fearful  thing  peeping  out  of 
every  smile  and  dimple. 

She  takes  up  the  phial  coolly,  calmly,  as  one  would 
lift  a  glass  of  rare  old  wine,  and  holds  it  for  a  moment 
between  her  and  the  light.  She  knows  something  of 
drugs.  She  knows  that  each  drop  in  that  frail  china 
jar  will  freeze  and  chill  the  blood  in  her  veins — nay, 
will  clutch  her  heart  with  an  iron  grip,  and  still  its 
beating  forever. 

As  the  unhappy  lady  stands  contemplating  her  doom, 
there  comes  a  gentle  tap  at  the  door,  a  tap  so  faint  and 
timid  that  Victorine  Gayland  does  not  hear  it  till  it  is 
repeated  in  a  louder  tone.  Like  some  midnight  thief 
caught  red-handed  with  his  spoil,  there  comes  a  strange 
look  into  her  eyes,  and  over  her  whole  countenance. 
An  instant,  and  it  is  gone.  "  Who's  there  ?  "  she  cries, 
and  a  soft  voice  replies — 

«  It  is  I— only  I— Te  Coro." 

With  a  stifled  cry  that  has  in  it  more  of  despair  than 
anger,  Victorine  admits  her  friend,  and  sinks  down 
before  her  on  the  floor  with  a  great  sob.  "  Te  Coro, 
how  you  frightened  me  ! " 

Te  Coro  does  not  heed  the  white  lie,  but  glances 
quickly  from  the  table  to  the  crouching  form  at  her  feet. 


VICTORINE  GAYLAND'S  AGONY.  225 

"  You  are  not  well  to-night,"  she  says  softly,  bending 
down  and  drawing  the  hot  throbbing  head  towards  her. 
"  Ah !  it  is  cruel  to  work  you  so  much — to  make  you 
play  and  sing  and  talk  until  you  are  weary  and  tired 
unto  death!  Say  it  is  not  poor  Te  Coro  who  has 
frightened  you — you,  who  are  so  fearless  and  brave ! " 

No  answer  save  another  sob,  which  cannot  be  re- 
pressed, and  a  nestling  of  the  fair  head  as  if  it  would 
hide  itself  in  the  Maori's  bosom. 

Te  Coro  puts  back  the  luxuriant  hair  from  the 
troubled  brow,  and  kissing  it,  continues :  "  I  have  been 
three  weeks  your  guest — three  happy,  pleasant  weeks 
for  the  Maori  girl.  Peace  has  fallen  upon  my  eyes 
and  upon  my  senses  every  night  I  have  been  beneath 
your  roof ;  and  I  have  slept,  as  the  dead  only  sleep,  in 
serene  and  utter  forgetfulness.  To-night  I  could  not 
close  my  eyes.  Sleep  would  not  come  to  me,  try  as 
best  I  could.  While  I  sat  and  pondered  on  the  cause 
of  my  wakefulness,  lo!  there  came  a  vision  of  this 
chamber — so  minute  in  every  particular,  that  I  was 
certain  I  was  standing  on  this  spot  rather  than  sitting 
in  my  own  room.  I  saw  you  there  by  the  table,  dearest, 
with  your  face  like  the  face  of  one  who  is  dying,  but  is 
not  dead.  Oh,  it  was  terrible !  I  saw  your  pale  lips 
move,  but  I  could  not  hear  what  you  said.  Once  you 
stretched  forth  your  arms  in  mute  despair,  and  then 
sank  down  as  if  to  hide  yourself  within  the  bowels  of 
the  senseless  ground.  When  you  rose  up,  the  agony  I 
read  in  your  look  was  fearful.  Ah,  me !  I  beheld  you 
at  the  cabinet,  from  whose  secret  recesses  you  took  a 
letter — that  one  there  on  the  table — and  with  it  some- 
thing glittering  as  the  deadly  adder's  fangs.  Nay,  let 
your  troubled  head  rest  here  awhile,"  she  continues. 
« I  am  but  a  Maori,  yet  the  Maori  loves  her  friend. 


226        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

Give  me  your  hand.  Ah !  what  is  this  ?  It  is  the  tempt- 
ing toi-toi — poison.  Unclose  your  fingers.  So  my 
vision  was  not  all  a  fable !  " 

Quick  as  a  juggler  in  some  trick  that  defies  the  sight, 
the  Maori  girl,  with  a  backward  sweep  of  her  hand, 
dashed  the  phial  against  the  iron  grate,  where  it  was 
shattered  into  a  hundred  fragments. 

It  was  a  strange  picture  this — enacted  in  the  deep 
stillness  of  the  summer  night.  Here  the  proud,  brilliant 
beauty,  hitherto  invincible,  bowed  down  to  the  dust  in 
all  the  abandonment  of  her  pain  and  shame,  pensively 
silent ;  there  the  Maori,  no  less  beautiful,  no  less  proud 
— pleading  and  battling  with  the  spirit  of  evil  which 
would  not  depart  without  a  tussle  from  the  heart  and 
soul  of  Victorine  Gayland. 

"  I  know  your  secret,  dearest ;  I  have  known  it  long," 
said  Te  Coro  after  a  time,  in  which  the  sullen  anguish 
of  the  sufferer  had  given  place  to  a  passionate  fit  of 
tears  that  shook  her  as  the  wind  and  waves  play  with 
a  ship  at  sea.  "  You  must  suffer — as  you  have  suffered, 
but  your  whole  life  need  not  be  wrecked  because  of  this 
heartache — this  sense  of  desolation.  It  may  be  years 
before  you  forget,  but  you  will  forget.  You  will  live 
to  become  a  noble,  useful  woman — all  the  more  noble 
because  of  your  suffering." 

Morning  dawns — dawns  fair  and  lovely.  The  sun 
glints  in  upon  the  two  women  and  the  appointments 
of  the  luxurious  apartment. 

Victorine  Gayland  is  stretched  upon  a  sofa,  with 
closed  eyes,  but  she  is  moaning  as  if  in  great  agony. 
Te  Coro  steals  across  the  room  on  tip-toe  and  meets 
the  maid  at  the  door. 

"  Sheldon,"  she  says, "  tell  Marks  to  saddle  Firefly,  and 
.bid  him  haste  to  Dr.  Townely.  Your  mistress  is  ill" 


THE  BLOCK  PAH.  227 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE    BLOCK   PAH. 

DETECTIVE  DUSK  had  set  himself  no  easy  task  in 
tracking  Victor  Mauprat  and  his  confederates.  From 
the  outset  difficulties  beset  him  which  made  progress 
slow  if  sure.  In  the  whirl  and  tumult  of  civilized  life, 
the  man-hunter  would  have  hunted  down  his  prey 
with  the  sure  and  swift  scent  of  a  bloodhound ;  but 
here,  in  the  very  thick  of  Nature's  wildest  scenes,  the 
conditions  were  altered. 

Beyond  Omera  his  two  companions  were  taken  ill, 
and  had  to  be  sent  back  to  the  city.  At  Havelock, 
however,  Dusk  managed  to  secure  the  services  of  a 
friendly  Maori,  by  name  Taperia,  otherwise  the 
"  Wolf."  This  man  had  done  the  State  some  service 
in  several  capacities.  He  had  been  interpreter,  spy,  a 
delegate  from  the  Government  to  the  Rebels,  etc.  The 
fellow  could  speak  English  remarkably  well,  and  had 
a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  country.  At  first  the 
detective  was  suspicious  of  his  companion,  but  the 
latter  soon  convinced  Dusk  that  he  was  trustworthy. 

"It  is  to  my  interest  to  serve  the  stronger  party 
faithfully,  because  they  pay  me  well,  and  they  will 
surely  win  in  the  end." 

Excellent  reasons,  and  quite  satisfactory  to  the  man- 
hunter,  who  looked  upon  the  Maori,  as  a  clever  speci- 
men of  the  race.  The  Wolf  was  very  useful.  When 
Dusk  became  despondent  and  quite  at  fault  in  gather- 


228        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FEENBROOK. 

ing  up  a  clue,  his  companion  came  to  the  rescue, 
scented  the  lost  trail  of  the  Pakehas,  and  followed  it 
with  the  tenacity  of  the  Scotland  Yard  runner  himself. 
With  one  less  qualified  than  Taperia  the  work  could 
not  have  been  accomplished  at  all. 

Up  the  Fire  Mountain,  across  Lake  Kiteara,  over  the 
Hunna  Ranges,  and  down  into  the  wide  valley  of 
Pukehini,  he  followed  the  Pakehas,  step  by  step,  with 
that  unerring  faculty  which  only  a  New  Zealander  can 
attain.  From  the  Hunna  Ranges  the  track  was  not 
that  of  one  or  two  persons  only,  but  of  a  smaU  army. 

One  night,  when  they  had  lit  a  fire  and  were  enjoy- 
ing their  supper,  the  Wolf  picked  up  a  small  shell, 
with  a  hole  in  it,  lying  at  his  feet. 

"  See  here,"  he  said.  "  The  warriors  of  Te  Papa 
have  passed  this  way.  If  the  Pakehas  have  gone  to 
join  Paul  Titori  and  his  men,  then  they  are  not  far 
away,  for  where  Te  Papa's  warriors  are  there  is  the 
Rebel  Chief." 

"  You  are  not  afraid,  Taperia  ?  " 

"  No,  Paul  Titori  has  nothing  against  me  ;  but  with 
you  it  is  different.  He  will  surely  have  your  life,  if  he 
finds  you." 

"  I  must  take  my  chance  of  that  with  all  the  rest," 
responds  Peter  Dusk,  filling  his  pipe. 

The  next  day,  at  noon  or  thereabouts,  our  two 
worthies  emerge  out  of  the  thick  forest  range  by  way 
of  Tonga's  Peak.  This  peak  is  nothing  more  than  a 
lofty  ridge,  steep  and  bare  of  vegetation,  but  from  its 
summit  can  be  seen  the  bold  and  irregular  landscape 
beneath,  for  several  miles  round.  Away,  beyond  the 
swamps  and  thick  patches  of  bushland,  Taurauga 
nestles  cosily  on  the  very  edge  of  the  Bay  of  Plenty. 

To  the  right  is  the  Rebel  village,  Judea,  joining  the 


THE  BLOCK  PAH.  229 

coast  wall,  which  latter  looms  up  to  the  sight  like  a 
gigantic  fort.  The  eyes  of  Peter  Dusk  rest  upon  this 
spot  with  absorbed  attention.  Right  on  the  apex  of 
the  sea  wall,  which  here  presents  a  flat  surface,  the 
Rebels  have  eracted  ajt?«A,  the  native  name  for  fortress. 

Encircling  the  outer  rim,  even  where  the  solid  wall 
of  rock  looks  sheer  below  into  the  sea,  there  have  been 
erected  gabions  of  sand-bags,  five  feet  high,  with 
numerous  loopholes,  to  sight  an  approaching  enemy. 
Within  the  enclosed  space  are  rings  of  posts,  inter- 
laced with  a  hard,  tough  creeper,  called  supple-jack, 
whose  octopus-like  limbs  entangle  and  retard  like  a 
spider's  web.  Everywhere  within  the  stronghold  rifle- 
pits  cut  cross- wise  are  to  be  seen. 

It  has  taken  the  allies  of  Paul  Titori  three  years  to 
build  the  "  Block  Pah  "  ;  and  when  it  is  finished,  the 
Maori  Rebel  Leader  has  taken  possession  of  it  with  six 
thousand  men,  and  has  defied  the  Pakeha  to  dislodge 
him  from  it. 

Peter  Dusk,  looking  down  upon  the  crowd  of  dusky 
forms  moving  here  and  there  in  the  place  like  a  swarm 
of  huge  ants,  knows  little  or  nothing  of  Paul  Titori  or 
his  warriors.  All  he  knows,  or  cares  to  know,  is  the 
one  fact — Victor  Mauprat,  the  Ferret,  Colonel  de  Roal, 
and  the  giant  Blake,  have  been  traced  to  the  spot.  If 
they  have  joined  the  Rebel  Chieftain — and  he  has  re- 
liable information  that  such  is  the  case — then  they  are 
thus  caged,  and  the  only  question  for  him  to  decide 
is  how  he  is  going  to  capture  his  men  without  being 
captured  in  turn. 

The  position  is  a  strong  one,  there  is  no  doubt  on 
that  head ;  on  one  side  looms  the  coast-line,  steep  and 
slippery,  with  no  foothold  even  for  a  mountain  goat. 
To  the  left,  and  far  out,  is  a  deep  swamp,  overgrown 


230        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

with  tall  coarse  rushes,  where  a  body  of  men  could 
not  force  a  passage  without  being  entirely  lost. 

There  is  only  one  way  to  the  place,  and  that  is  by 
way  of  the  hapu,  or  village,  and  here  it  is  but  a  narrow 
ledge  of  rock  little  more  than  a  dozen  feet  wide.  Once 
over  this,  however,  there  is  plenty  of  room  right  under 
the  breastwork,  where  a  body  of  resolute  men  may 
re-form  and  make  their  attempt. 

If  this  man  from  Scotland  Yard  could,  by  any  pos- 
sible means,  have  known  the  series  of  events  taking 
place  within  the  area  of  his  vision,  as  he  stood  upon 
Tonga's  Peak,  then  he  would  have  seen,  away  beyond 
the  hapu  at  Judea,  a  dark  line  of  armed  men  moving 
in  the  direction  of  the  Block  Pah.  With  keener  eyes 
than  his  companion,  the  Wolf  saw  them,  and,  pointing 
with  his  finger,  said :  "  Look !  those  are  Pakehas  going 
to  storm  Paul  Titori  out  of  his  den." 

And  the  Maori  was  right.  Colonel  Chesterton,  the 
military  genius  of  the  hour  in  New  Zealand,  was 
marching  with  eighteen  hundred  men — volunteers  all 
— to  attack  the  Rebel  Chief  in  his  stronghold.  Paul 
Titori  and  Colonel  Chesterton  had  encountered  each 
other  often,  ere  the  former  was  driven  out  of  the  Wai- 
kato.  And  now  the  gallant  Colonel  was  about  to  meet 
his  enemy  again. 

From  the  hill-top  the  detective  immediately  under- 
stood the  scene  beneath  his  ken.  The  commotion 
inside  the  pah,  and  the  steady  column  moving  as  one 
man  to  the  assault,  were  as  a  chess-board  situated  at 
his  feet,  wherein  every  individual  movement  of  the 
besiegers  and  the  besieged  was  plainly  discernible. 

"  Te  haki  e  hina"  cries  the  Maori,  "we  are  just  in 
time  to  see  the  fun."  Peter  Dusk  looks  at  his  com- 
panion, and,  without  reply,  seats  himself  on  a  ledge  of 


THE  BLOCK  PAH.  231 

rock  with  his  rifle  between  his  knees,  and  lights  his 
pipe.  Not  one  man  in  a  million  has  such  a  picture 
before  him  as  this  scene  of  the  valley  of  Taurauga. 

Meanwhile  the  volunteers  have  sighted  the  pah,  and 
here  they  halt  while  a  small  body  of  officers  go  for- 
ward to  reconnoitre  the  Maori  position.  In  half  an 
hour  two  guns,  the  whole  artillery  of  the  attacking 
force,  take  up  a  position,  and  soon  reduce  the  Tiapu  to 
a  heap  of  ruins.  What  few  warriors  there  are  retire 
into  the  pah,  from  which  issue  yells  of  defiance. 

Moving  forward  quickly,  Colonel  Chesterton  divides 
his  force  into  two  lines.  One  takes  up  a  position  on  a 
range  to  the  right  of  the  pah,  accompanied  by  the  guns, 
which  open  fire  on  the  front  face  of  the  stronghold. 
Here  there  is  a  strong  trellis  of  stout  saplings  inter- 
laced with  the  supple-jack.  It  is  the  only  weak  point 
about  the  fort,  but  it  has  a  wonderful  power  of  resist- 
ance. Again  and  again,  with  increasing  precision,  the 
gunners  hit  the  pliant  wall  of  fence  full  in  front ;  the 
tremendous  force  of  the  shot  bearing  down  the  whole 
breastwork.  But  so  flexible  and  tenacious  are  the 
materials  of  which  it  is  composed,  that  instantly  the 
missile  rebounds,  and  the  whole  mass  springs  back  to 
its  original  position.  At  every  shot  there  is  a  roar  of 
defiance,  followed  by  a  sharp  volley  of  musketry  from 
the  Rebels.  The  gunners  stick  to  their  work,  but  the 
guns  get  hot  and  have  to  be  abandoned  for  a  time. 

At  this  point  the  line  of  reserve  is  brought  to  the 
iront,  and  formed  into  close  column  of  companies. 
They  deploy  four  deep  down  the  hill,  as  if  to  cross  the 
swamp  at  the  base  of  the  pah.  The  Rebels,  believing 
that  they  are  about  to  be  assaulted  from  this  point, 
leave  their  rifle-pits  and  crowd  the  ramparts  of  the 
Northern  Wall.  The  manoeuvre  is  only  a  ruse,  but  it 


232        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

is  successful.  Suddenly,  at  the  blast  of  a  bugle,  the 
whole  body  turn  and  race  for  the  pathway  of  the  pah, 
gain  it,  and  are  on  the  broad  ledge,  hewing  down  an 
opening  in  the  fa9ade,  ere  the  astonished  Maoris  can 
return  to  oppose  them. 

Hurrah!  They  have  gained  an  entrance — but  the 
Rebels  return  to  this  point  in  overwhelming  numbers, 
and  there  begins  a  dogged  hand-to-hand  butchery,  that 
has  in  it  the  very  elements  of  hell  and  nought  of  mercy. 

The  first  rush  of  the  Maoris  is  repulsed,  and  they 
are  driven  back  upon  a  body  of  Te  Papa's  men.  These 
are  led  by  Paul  Titori,  and  fight  coolly  and  bravely. 
The  deadly  weapons  of  the  volunteers  make  gaps  in 
their  ranks,  but  they  are  filled  up  again,  and  roll  on- 
ward like  an  avalanche,  bearing  the  hated  Pakeha 
slowly  but  steadily  backward  through  the  rents  in  the 
line  of  defence.  Colonel  Chesterton,  standing  by  the 
guns,  draws  his  sword.  "  My  men,"  he  says,  turning 
to  the  second  column,  who  are  impatient  to  join  the 
mdlee,  "  I  am  determined  to  have  the  Block  Pah.  All 
of  you  who  may  be  of  my  opinion,  follow  me ! " 

There  is  a  cheer  and  a  rush,  and  those  of  the  first 
party  who  are  striving  against  great  odds  take  heart 
as  they  are  joined  by  their  comrades. 

Peter  Dusk,  on  the  hill-top,  sits  and  smokes  his 
pipe.  He  views  the  fierce  and  bloody  contest  with 
strained  muscles  and  staring  eyeballs.  He  sees  that 
superb  ring  of  tall,  sable  warriors  reel  and  totter,  and 
fall  around  their  leader,  the  Rebel  Chief.  He  sees  the 
black  seething  mass,  beaten  but  still  fighting — forced 
rearward,  to  that  high  black  wall  forming  the  coastline. 
Here  the  scattered  groups  concentrate  into  a  close, 
solid  square,  for  what  appears  a  last  united  effort  to 
dislodge  the  foe.  To  the  eyes  of  the  two  solitary 


THE  BLOCK  PAH.  ,         233 

spectators  on  the  hill,  the  Rebels  must  certainly  perish 
where  they  stand,  or  be  borne  over  the  abyss  into  the 
sea. 

But  even  while  they  look,  lo !  a  huge  mass  of  the 
rock  swings  suddenly  backward,  forming  a  gaping 
passage,  through  which  the  remnant  of  the  Maori 
column  precipitate  themselves  en  masse.  Before  the 
stormers  can  get  near,  the  rock  rolls  back  again  with 
a  noise  like  thunder,  and  they  are  baffled  of  their  prey, 
after  all. 

Some  call  loudly  for  the  guns,  but  the  artillery  can- 
not be  brought  along  that  narrow  pathway.  The 
Block  Pah  is  not,  however,  the  strongest  of  these 
Maori  redoubts. 

Peter  Dusk  knocks  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe,  and 
rises. 

"  I'm  going  to  the  pah,  Taperia,"  he  says.  "  Is  there 
a  near  cut  to  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answers  the  Wolf ;  "  come  with  me." 


SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

BEARDING   THE    LION. 

No  sight  so  inglorious  and  sad  as  a  battle-field  when 
the  conflict  is  over.  The  interior  of  the  conquered 
pah  presented  a  ghastly  picture — dead  and  dying 
heaped  together,  amongst  the  debris  of  broken  weapons. 
Pursuit  of  the  retreating  enemy  was  not  thought  of 
under  the  circumstances.  Indeed,  Colonel  Chesterton 
could  find  no  clue  to  the  phenomenon  of  the  rock 
which  had  suddenly  opened  its  ponderous  jaws  before 
him,  and  swallowed  up  the  Rebels  to  a  man.  Days 
afterwards,  the  secret  was  found  out,  but  it  was  then 
too  late  to  give  chase. 

For  years  "  the  Moving  Rock  of  Pukina  "  had  been 
known  to  the  Maoris.  A  vast  mass  of  solid  stone, 
which  formed  part  of  the  higher  wall  on  the  coast- 
line, had  become  by  some  freak  of  Nature  bedded  on 
a  pivot  below.  A  child,  knowing  the  secret,  could 
have  swung  the  stupendous  boulder  round  with  a 
touch  of  its  hand.  Without  the  secret,  no  known 
power  of  leverage  could  have  moved  it.  The  designer 
of  the  Block  Pah,  taking  advantage  of  the  "  Moving 
Rock,"  excavated  a  broad  terrace  of  steps  beneath  its 
opening,  which  led  to  the  shore  beneath. 

Before  the  attack  on  the  stronghold,  every  precau- 
tion had  been  taken  by  the  Rebel  Chief  for  a  safe 
retreat  through  this  passage  in  case  of  defeat. 


BEARDING  THE  LION.  235 

fr 

When  Dusk  and  his  companion  reached  the  pah, 

everything  was  in  a  state  of  confusion. 

"  Who  are  you,  sir  ?  "  asked  the  commander  of  the 
force,  eyeing  the  detective  suspiciously. 

"  I  am  travelling  in  the  interests  of  the  Auckland 
Times"  replied  he,  boldly,  and  with  -great  readiness. 
"  We  had  information  that  the  pah  was  to  be  attacked, 
and  I  with  a  guide,  the  Maori  here,  was  despatched  at 
once  for  the  scene." 

"  Hem !  How  or  from  whom  came  the  information 
anent  my  movements  ?  "  asked  the  Colonel. 

"  I  cannot  say." 

"Which  way  did  you  come — by  the  Fire  Mount- 
ain?" 

"Yes.  We  had  reached  Tonga's  Peak  when  you 
began  the  attack." 

"  That  was  an  excellent  point  from  which  to  witness 
an  engagement  of  this  sort,"  said  Colonel  Chesterton. 
"  Kindly  favor  me  with  your  name?" 

The  detective  paused  a  moment  ere  he  answered, 
"  My  name  is  Dusk — Peter  Dusk." 

"  Representative  of  the  Times  ?  " 

"  Exactly,  Colonel  Chesterton." 

"  Very  well ;  I  shall  be  glad  to  furnish  you  with  any 
details  for  your  report.  Be  good  enough  to  report 
yourself  to  my  aide-de-camp,  Captain  Hayward,  who 
will  provide  you  with  a  stool  at  the  mess  this  evening. 
Au  revoir  !  " 

The  Colonel  walked  away  to  give  orders  for  the  care 
of  the  wounded,  to  collect  the  spare  arms,  and  to  bury 
the  dead. 

Dusk  took  the  Wolf  aside.  "  Look  here,  I  mean  to 
follow  Titori,  if  you  have  the  courage  to  lead  the 
way." 


236        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

"  It  is  madness,"  replied  the  Maori.  "  The  Rebels, 
enraged  at  their  defeat,  will  kill  you  at  sight." 

"  Have  no  fear  on  my  account,  my  good  Taperia," 
replied  Dusk,  coolly.  "  Place  me  in  sight  of  the  Rebel 
Chief's  camp,  then  leave  me.  That  is  all  I  ask." 

"  You  are  mad !  "  said  the  courteous  Wolf.  "  How 
can  I  know  where  Titori  has  gone  ?  He  may  be  fall- 
ing back  on  Taurauga,  to  join  his  battered  warriors 
with  the  band  of  Te  Rauga  of  Taranaki." 

"  Look  here,  the  Rebels  are  not  far  away,"  said  Dusk, 
quietly.  "  Titori  is  much  stronger  than  Colonel  Ches- 
terton, and  he  will  have  another  fight  for  it.  That's 
my  opinion.  I  have  a  sovereign  here,  which  I  shall 
not  require.  Just  say  where  you  think  the  Maoris 
have  retreated  to,  and  the  money  is  yours." 

The  Wolfs  dark  eyes  glistened  greedily  at  the  sight 
of  the  coin  held  out  to  him.  "  I  think  Paul  Titori  will 
go  to  the  pah  at  Judea,"  he  replied,  after  a  pause. 

"  And  where  is  Judea,  Taperia  ?  " 

"  A  Maori  settlement  on  the  line  of  coast,  about  ten 
miles  distant." 

"  Do  you  know  a  way  to  this  place — I  mean  an  easy 
way — whereby  we  could  reach  it  before  morning?" 
asked  Dusk. 

"  I  think  so,  but " 

"That'll  do,"  interrupted  the  other.  "Take  the 
money  and  pay  attention  to  what  I  say.  When  it  is 
dark,  we  will  start  for  Judea.  I  will  put  on  volunteer 
uniform." 

"  How  ?  "  questioned  Wolf. 

"  Very  easy,  my  friend ;  are  there  not  plenty  to 
select  from  among  the  slain  ?  This  poor  fellow  lying 
here  is  just  my  height  and  build.  You  see,  be  has  an 
extra  suit  strapped  to  his  back.  What  harm  to  take 


BEARDING  THE  LION.  237 

it?  He'll  never  require  his  uniform  again  in  this 
world." 

The  Wolf  shuddered.  "It  is  terrible  to  rob  the 
dead,"  said  he. 

"  Perhaps ;  but  needs  must  when  the  devil  drives. 
I  have  everything  staked  on  the  issue  of  this  business, 
and  to  draw  back  means  ruin  to  me.  No,  the  work,  I 
can  see,  is  perilous  in  the  extreme,  but  I  mean  to  try 
it,  and  win  if  I  can." 

The  Maori  looked  at  his  companion  with  something 
like  admiration  in  his  bloodshot  eyes.  "  A  madman 
would  scarcely  venture  into  the  clutches  of  Titori  at 
this  juncture ;  but  I  suppose  you  know  your  own  affairs 
best.  I  am  quite  ready  to  show  you  the  way  to  Judea, 
but  I  will  not  accompany  you  within  the  hapu.  Is 
that  understood?" 

"  Quite,"  returned  the  detective.  "  Now,  what  will 
you  do  ?  Go  back  to  town,  Taperia  ?" 

"  I  will  cross  over  to  Taurauga  and  await  your  fate," 
answered  the  "Wolf. 

Darkness  fell  apace.  The  wounded  had  been 
gathered  together  and  their  wants  attended  to,  so  far 
as  it  was  possible  under  the  conditions.  Fatigue  par- 
ties had  been  told  off  to  bury  the  dead,  but  this  proved 
to  be  a  work  of  no  small  magnitude,  considering  that 
friend  and  foe  had  to  be  provided  with  this  last  accom- 
modation. Within  the  pah  a  huge  bonfire  had  been 
made  which  lighted  the  men  while  performing  their 
ghastly  work. 

Some  there  were,  seated  in  a  circle,  partaking  dinner, 
for  the  Rebels  had  left  an  ample  stock  of  dried  fish  and 
potatoes  behind  them.  In  the  midst  of  these  Taperia 
was  a  guest. 

Only  two  or  three  of  the  officers  assembled  at  the 


238        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

mess,  and  these  were  compelled  to  snatch  a  hasty  meal, 
and  hurry  off  to  their  urgent  duties. 

Peter  Dusk  ate  his  dinner  quietly,  but  with  a 
thoughtful  face.  It  had  been  previously  arranged 
that  he  should  meet  the  Wolf  at  the  ruined  hapu  with- 
out the  pah,  as  soon  as  the  meal  was  over. 

Although  there  was  little  to  fear  from  a  night  attack 
by  the  Rebels,  Colonel  Chesterton  had  gathered  his 
forces  within  the  stronghold,  and  had  posted  a  chain 
of  sentries  round  it.  The  difficulty  was  to  get  through 
the  outpost.  But  this  was  overcome  in  a  manner  quite 
unexpected.  Several  men  had  been  killed  at  the  hapu 
outside  the  fort,  and  a  party  was  sent  out  to  bury  them. 
Dusk,  who  had  found  time  to  change  his  costume, 
formed  up  with  the  party  in  the  semi-darkness,  and 
marched  out  in  their  ranks. 

It  had  been  previously  arranged  between  the  detec- 
tive and  Wolf  that  each  should  seek  his  own  way  out 
of  the  pah,  and  that  a  giant  kauri  pine,  standing  away 
on  the  right  of  the  ruined  Maori  settlement,  should  be 
the  rendezvous.  While  the  burying  party  were  busy 
with  their  work,  Dusk  slipped  quietly  away,  and  easily 
found  the  tree,  where  he  sat  down  to  await  the  coming 
of  the  Maori. 

Peter  Dusk  was  hardy  of  frame,  and  had  a  will  of 
iron  to  back  it ;  but  the  day  had  been  a  long  one,  at 
the  end  of  many  long  days  before  it,  and  he  began  to 
feel  tired  and  drowsy.  It  appeared  to  him  a  long  time, 
waiting  and  watching  alone,  and  in  the  darkness.  Of 
course,  he  had  waited  and  watched  before,  but  under 
different  conditions.  A  man  never  feels  alone  in  the 
heart  of  London.  Here,  in  the  wild  grandeur  of  these 
looming  rocks,  which  appeared  to  take  gigantic  shapes, 
and  nod  and  gibber  at  him,  he  felt  a  kind  of  awe 


BEARDING  THE  LION.  239^ 

which  made  him  shut  his  eyes  and  shiver,  he  knew 
not  why. 

In  the  midst  of  his  reflections,  there  came  at  length 
upon  nfl  ears  a  strange  noise,  like  the  call  of  the  "  toho," 
the  night  bird  of  Maoriland.  He  listened  attentively, 
and  the  cry  was  repeated,  but  much  nearer  than  before. 
Presently,  a  dark  form  presented  itself  almost  at  his 
side.  - 

"  Who's  that  ?    Speak !  " 

"It  is  I— the  Wolf." 

"  What  the  deuce  kept  you  so  long ! "  cried  Dusk. 

"  Hi  ti,  moi  tara.  A  man  can't  assume  the  shape  of 
the  devil  at  all  times.  I  had  no  desire  to  be  shot,  so  I 
waited  for  an  opportunity  to  drop  down  into  the  swamp, 
where  there  is  no  watch  set,  and  here  I  am." 

"  What  is  the  time  ?  " 

"Midnight  or  thereabouts;  but  I  say,  my  friend, 
where  are  your  arms — your  belt  and  pouch  ?  " 

Dusk  laughed  a  low  chuckling  laugh.  "  I  believe  I 
am  running  risk  sufficient  already,  without  venturing 
into  the  Rebel  camp  armed  to  the  teeth,"  said  he. 
"  My  plan  is  to  go  Titori  empty-handed,  tell  him  I  am  a 
deserter  from  the  volunteers,  and  ask  him  to  let  me 
serve  under  him." 

"  Will  he  believe  you  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,  but  I  will  try,  my  good  Taperia. 
The  worst  that  can  befall  me  overtakes  one  or  other  of 
us  every  day  of  our  lives.  Come,  let  us  move.  Which 
is  the  route  ?  " 

"  Follow,  and  make  no  noise,"  answered  the  other, 
striking  back  again  through  the  old  dilapidated  hapu. 
"  We  shall  have  to  pass  near  the  chain  of  sentries,  on 
the  south  side  of  the  pah,  and  from  thence  to  the  coast- 
line." 


240        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

Not  a  word  was  spoken  as  the  two  men  threaded 
their  way,  cautiously  but  at  a  swift  pace,  down  a  long 
ravine,  which  divided  the  path  from  the  Tonga  Valley. 

For  over  an  hour  they  toiled  on — now  over  huge 
boulders,  now  through  soft,  swampy  peat,  which  so 
exhausted  them  that  when  the  sandy  shore  of  the  coast 
was  reached  they  were  fain  to  throw  themselves 
down  full  length,  to  rest  and  breathe  awhile. 

"  Got  any  tobaccy  ?  "  said  Taperia. 

"  Plenty,"  replied  Dusk ;  "  but  will  it  be  safe  to  strike 
a  light  here?" 

"  Why  not  ?  We  are  a  long  way  from  the  pah, 
now." 

When  the  Maori  had  lit  his  short  black  cutty,  they 
started  on  again  up  the  coast-line,  which  led  them 
round  inlets  and  small  bays,  and  along  a  stretch  of 
smooth  sand,  as  straight  and  level  as  a  macadamized 
road.  Here  again,  farther  on,  rose  the  steep  cliffs  of 
the  coast- wall,  as  at  the  Block  Pah. 

It  was  breaking  day  now,  and  the  Wolf,  pointing 
with  his  finger,  said :  "  Yonder  lies  Judea.  Half  a  mile 
from  the  high  peak  to  the  left  is  situated  the  settle- 
ment. I  will  accompany  you  to  the  foot  of  the  cliff,  but 
no  farther.  I  have  spoken." 

Under  the  shade  of  the  overhanging  ledge  of  which 
the  Maori  had  spoken,  the  two  men  sat  down.  Briefly 
the  Wolf  directed  his  companion  how  to  proceed : 
"  Wait  until  it  is  broad  day,"  he  said,  in  conclusion ; 
"  then  ascend  the  range  boldly ;  the  Maori  scouts  may 
have  a  shot  at  you,  but  they  are  not  very  good  marks- 
men at  a  distance.  Good  luck !  and  I  hope  you  will 
come  safe  out  of  it." 

"I  have  little  fear  on  that  head,"  replied  Dusk; 
"  however,  one  never  knows  what  may  happen.  Look ! 


BEARDING  THE  LION.  241 

here  is  a  small  packet  of  papers.  They  are  addressed 
to  Mr.  Hilton  Fernbrook  of  the  Barrier  Rock ;  I  want 
you  to  post  these  for  me  when  you  reach  Taurauga." 

"  It  shall  be  done,"  cried  the  Wolf,  taking  the  packet 
and  hiding  it  in  his  tamba.  "  Anything  else  I  can  do 
for  you  ?  " 

"  No,  except  this — my  last  coin ! "  replied  Dusk, 
laughing  and  handing  it  to  the  Maori.  "I  guess  I 
shan't  want  money  in  the  camp  at  Judea.  Now,  good- 
bye !  Don't  forget  the  packet." 

Peter  Dusk  stood  and  watched  the  retreating  form 
of  his  faithful  friend,  until  a  bend  of  the  coast  hid 
him  from  his  view.  Then,  from  a  secret  pocket,  hid 
away  down  below  the  knee  of  his  trousers,  he  drew 
forth  the  smallest  of  revolvers.  The  miniature  wea- 
pon had  six  chambers,  every  one  of  which  was  war- 
ranted to  kill.  He  examined  the  toy  carefully,  ere  he 
put  it  again  in  its  hiding-place. 

Ascending  the  cliff,  as  directed  by  the  Maori,  Dusk 
came  to  a  deep  gorge  cut  through  the  hill-top.  It  was 
quite  dry,  and  there  was  a  well-worn  footpath  leading 
upwards.  It  took  the  intrepid  officer  some  time  to 
reach  the  summit;  but  this  once  reached,  Judea  and 
the  surrounding  country  lay  at  his  feet  like  a  map. 
To  the  right  he  saw  a  large  valley  under  cultivation, 
shut  in  by  ridges,  hills,  and  mountains,  rising  one 
above  the  other  in  the  misty  distance,  with  the  blue 
sky  for  a  background.  Away  to  the  left  stood  the 
settlement,  the  whares,  or  huts,  clustered  together  in  ten 
or  a  dozen  rows,  like  diggers'  tents.  Much  nearer  to 
where  he  stood  loomed  a  rock,  like  a  sugar-loaf  with  the 
top  cut  off,  and  upon  this  stood  the  pah  of  Judea — 
stronger,  larger,  and  far  more  difficult  to  attack  than 

the  Block  Pah  of  Tonga  Valley. 
16 


242        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

As  Dusk  stood  and  gazed  about  him,  a  musket-ball 
whizzed  in  close  proximity  to  his  head,  and  before  he 
had  time  to  notice  from  whence  the  report  which 
followed  came,  he  was  seized  from  behind  and  dragged 
to  the  ground. 

"  Te  hini  TeJce  PaJceha"  cried  a  gruff  voice  in  his 
ear.  Dusk  help  up  the  thumb  of  his  left  hand,  a  sign 
that  he  did  not  understand  Maori.  There  was  a  mur- 
mur of  voices  at  this,  and  a  call  to  some  one  on  the 
ridge  below,  who  quickly  clambered  up.  He  was  a 
Pakeha,  tall  and  big.  At  the  first  sound  of  his  voice, 
Dusk  turned  to  look  at  him,  and  beheld  Drummond 
Blake. 

"  Who  the  devil  are  you,  and  how  did  you  get  here  ?  " 
he  said,  waving  the  Maoris  back. 

Dusk  had  his  story  ready,  and  told  it  briefly.  He 
had  been  unfortunate,  got  tipsy  while  on  duty,  had 
been  tried  and  sentenced  to  be  flogged — escaped — and 
wished  to  fight  with  the  Maoris  if  they  would  receive 
him  as  a  comrade. 

There  was  quite  a  ring  of  warriors  around  him  now, 
who  seemed  to  spring  up  out  of  the  ground,  or  from  the 
rocks  around. 

"  I  can  do  nothing,"  said  Blake,  gruffly.  "  You  will 
have  to  go  before  Paul  Titori." 


COLONEL  DE  ROAL'S  THEORY.  243 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

COLONEL   DE   EOAL's    THEORY. 

PETEB  DUSK  was  led  away  by  his  captors  in  complete 
silence.  There  was  a  narrow,  well-worn  pathway 
down  into  a  deep  gorge,  whose  luxuriant  foliage  almost 
shut  out  the  light  of  day,  into  which  they  led  him. 
Halting  for  a  moment  here,  the  Maoris  searched  his 
pockets  and  took  the  contents  into  their  keeping. 
The  prisoner  was  then  blindfolded  and  led  onward  over 
a  very  rough  road  in  an  upward  direction. 

In  half  an  hour  or  thereabouts,  but  which  had  ap- 
peared to  the  mock  deserter  a  whole  revolution  of  the 
clock,  the  escort  came  to  a  halt,  and  the  bandage  was 
removed  from  the  prisoner's  eyes.  Peter  Dusk,  looking 
about  him,  found  himself  within  a  large  circle,  walled 
in  by  a  triple  bank  of  earthworks  thrown  up  to  a 
height  of  six  or  seven  feet,  with  loopholes  some 
eight  inches  to  a  foot  wide,  and  extending  round  the 
whole  of  the  breastwork.  Around  on  every  side  were 
parallel  lines  between  the  earthworks,  excavated 
out  of  the  solid  rock  and  forming  a  communication 
from  the  outer  to  the  inner  line  of  defence,  while  innu- 
merable rifle-pits  crossed  and  recrossed  each  other 
round  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  enclosure.  Two 
big  guns  of  heavy  calibre  were  run  out  upon  wide 
platforms  overlooking  the  gorge  seaward,  and  their 
embrasures  formed  a  bomb-proof  shelter  to  the  warriors 
who  manned  them. 


244       THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

Not  at  once  did  the  prisoner  note  all  these  things, 
for  as  soon  as  the  bandage  was  removed  from  his  eyes 
he  was  led  away  through  one  of  the  passages,  and  down 
a  flight  of  rugged  stairs,  into  a  kind  of  square  chamber 
hewn  out  of  the  cliff.  This  place,  which  was  lighted 
by  two  Maori  whale-oil  lamps,  revealed  three  persons 
seated  at  a  table,  and  two  others  reclining  on  a  couch 
of  skins  and  rugs  at  the  upper  end  of  the  chamber. 
Two  of  the  personages  at  the  table  were  Maoris — Paul 
Titori,  the  Rebel  Leader  himself,  and  his  aide  Honti, 
Chief  of  the  Waitauri.  Titori  had  a  bloody  cloth 
about  his  temples,  which  imparted  to  his  face  a  ghastly 
look.  Between  the  giant  Honti  and  Titori  sat  a 
Pakeha,  with  his  arm  encased  in  a  rude  sling.  On  his 
head  was  a  cap,  with  flaps  made  from  the  skin  of  the 
New  Zealand  beaver ;  a  tight-fitting  coat,  which  had 
once  been  a  toga,  lined  with  soft  mica  flax,  was 
buttoned  up  to  his  chin  and  fastened  at  the  middle  with 
a  belt  containing  a  revolver.  One  glance  at  this  man 
revealed  to  the  watchful  eyes  of  the  sham  deserter — 
Colonel  de  Roal. 

The  fourth  of  the  group  rose  from  his  recumbent 
position  at  the  entrance  of  Dusk  and  his  guard.  For 
one  moment,  it  took  all  the  strength  of  his  self-will  to 
repress  a  cry  of  surprise  from  the  detective,  as  his 
gaze  fell  on  the  features  of  this  man.  Had  it  not  been 
that  he  was  fully  prepared  to  find  a  strong  resemblance 
between  Victor  Mauprat,  the  escaped  convict,  and  the 
Heir  of  Fernbrook — nay,  more  than  a  striking  likeness, 
a  very  facsimile — it  is  just  possible  that  he,  the  veteran, 
cool-headed,  daring  fox,  might  have  betrayed  himself 
and  forfeited  his  commission  and  his  life  on  the  spot. 
As  it  was — and  he  had  schooled  himself  for  a  surprise 
— it  was  some  moments  ere  Dusk  could  believe  but  that 


COLONEL  DE  ROAL'S  THEORY.       245 

he  was  looking  at  his  companion  and  employer,  Hilton 
Fernbrook. 

Man  of  the  world,  and  practical  to  the  paring  of  a 
nail,  Dusk  had,  like  the  majority  of  his  class,  no  belief 
in  anything  except  that  which  could  be  clearly  demon- 
strated on  the  spot.  The  adage  setting  forth  that  "  No 
two  men  are  alike  "  he  had  held  as  a  truism  which  until 
now  had  been  verified  in  his  experience.  But  here  was 
the  exception  to  the  rule.  Just  the  same  man — height, 
form,  age,  complexion,  gesture,  features,  everything, 
even  to  the  most  minute  particular — that  he,  Dusk, 
had  seen  in  the  man  at  Drury  Lane  Theatre — the 
escapee  from  the  Del  Madilino,  Venice.  For  a  second, 
a  strange  thought  crossed  the  brain  of  the  detective. 
What,  after  all,  if  he  had  been  outwitted  by  the  man 
who  called  himself  Hilton  Fernbrook  ?  Might  this 
so-called  Fernbrook,  the  man  he  had  journeyed  with 
from  England,  be  the  man  wanted — the  other  only  a 
myth  ? 

While  this  idea  held  possession  of  Dusk,  the  man 
rose  from  his  couch  and  seated  himself  at  the  table. 
He  folded  his  arms  and  indulged  the  prisoner  with  a 
long  stare. 

"  Whom  have  we  here  ?  "  he  asked  after  a  pause. 

A  tall  muscular  Maori  stood  forward  and  replied  in 
good  English,  "  We  caught  this  Pakeha  prowling  about 
the  cliff  at  daybreak." 

The  four  men  at  the  table  looked  at  the  prisoner, 
and  then  held  a  brief  whispered  conference. 

"  Was  he  armed  ?  "  asked  Colonel  de  Roal. 

"  No ;  he  had  nothing  but  these,"  and  as  he  spoke 
the  Maori  advanced  to  the  table,  and  deposited  thereon 
a  knife,  some  tobacco,  three  or  four  copper  coins,  and 
a  piece  of  linen  in  the  form  of  a  bandage. 


246        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

"Let  the  warriors  wait  outside,  Tonga,"  said  the 
Rebel  Chieftain,  waving  the  escort  away. 

As  soon  as  they  were  gone,  Titori  lifted  his  blood- 
stained face  to  the  prisoner,  and  said :  "  Now,  why 
did  the  Pakeha  come  into  the  hands  of  his  enemies  ? 
Speak." 

The  tale  was  brief  enough,  and  Dusk  had  it  ready 
rehearsed.  He  was  on  duty  the  night  before  the  battle 
at  the  Block  Pah.  It  was  a  chilly  night,  and  raining. 
A  comrade  gave  him  some  rum,  and  he  became  drowsy 
and  fell  asleep  on  his  post.  He  was  found  out,  and 
sentenced  to  be  flogged.  Death  was  preferable  to  the 
cat-o'-nine  tails,  so  he  had  run  the  gauntlet  of  the  guard 
and  pickets,  and  escaped. 

"  Why  did  you  come  here — to  seek  death  ?  "  inquired 
de  Roal. 

"No;  I  knew  not  where  my  wandering  steps  led 
me,"  replied  Dusk.  "  My  chief  desire  was  to  get  as  far 
away  as  possible  from  the  camp  of  Captain  Chesterton 
and  his  dreadful  punishment." 

"  Humph  !  "  and  De  Roal  rested  his  wounded  limb  in 
an  easy  position  on  the  table,  and  looked  hard  at  the 
solid  face  of  the  detective. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  "  said  he. 

"Peter  Dusk." 

Victor  Mauprat  raised  his  head  quickly,  and  con- 
tracted his  brows  like  a  man  who  is  tryiug  to  remember. 

"  Dusk  ?  Queer  name,"  answered  the  Colonel,  re- 
flecting. "  Are  you  an  Englishman  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that  is,  my  parents  were,"  said  the  prisoner, 
correcting  himself. 

"  Ah,  born  in  the  colony  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  after  a  slight  pause. 

"  What  is  your  corps  ?  " 


COLONEL  DE  ROAL'S  THEORY.  247 

"  South  Auckland  Defence  Force,"  replied  Dusk. 

"  And  that  is  their  uniform  you  are  wearing  ?  " 

«  It  is." 

"  What  are  their  arms  ?  " 

"  Rifle  and  bayonet." 

"  Will  you  say  how  many  men  Colonel  Chesterton 
had  with  him  at  the  attack  of  the  pah  ?  " 

"  Two  thousand,  all  told,"  replied  Dusk,  at  haphaz- 
ard. 

"Are  there  any  reinforcements  on  the  way  from 
Taurauga  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know." 

There  was  ominous  silence  for  a  while,  then  Titori 
asked :  "  How  many  Maori  warriors  are  wounded  at 
the  pah?" 

«  About  forty." 

'•  And  what  has  been  done  with  them?  " 

"  They  are  placed  with  the  wounded  Pakehas,  under 
care  of  the  doctor,"  anwered  Dusk,  readily. 

"  One  word  more,  my  friend,"  said  the  Colonel,  smil- 
ing and  clapping  his  hands  together.  At  the  sum- 
mons, Tonga  and  his  escort  appeared.  "  Take  away 
the  Pakeha  and  guard  him  well,"  he  said. 

Mauprat  yawned  indolently.  "  The  poor  devil  is  no 
doubt  a  deserter.  I  vote  we  give  him  a  weapon  and 
make  him  fight  for  us." 

"  But  a  man  who  will  desert  his  comrades  will  also 
betray  them,"  put  in  the  Maori  leader,  quickly.  "  If 
we  trust  this  traitor  Pakeha,  what  guarantee  have  we 
that  he  will  not  turn  traitor  a  second  time,  when 
opportunity  offers  ?  After  all,  he  may  be  a  spy  from 
Colonel  Chesterton." 

"  Humph !  Titori  is  a  renowned  chief,*  and  what  he 
says  may  be  true,"  responded  Victor  Mauprat.  "  Let 


248        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

the  Pakeha  have  short  shrift — give  him  a  bullet  for 
breakfast.  It  will  be  the  surest  way  out  of  the  diffi- 
pulty." 

"  Nay,  a  Pakeha  is  best  fitted  to  judge  a  Pakeha," 
said  Titori,  rising  and  beckoning  to  his  lieutenant, 
Honti.  "  I  am  satisfied  to  leave  this  haki  (rogue)  to 
the  wisdom  of  my  friends.  Titori  is  a  warrior,  not  a 
judge  nor  an  executioner.  I  have  spoken."  Saying 
which  he  went  out,  followed  by  the  herculean  Honti. 

De  Roal  and  his  companion  sat  silent  for  some  time, 
each  busied  with  a  new  current  of  reflections,  caused 
by  the  appearance  of  the  sham  deserter  in  their  midst. 
The  force  of  circumstances  had  driven  these  renegades 
into  their  present  position.  With  the  rightful  Heir  of 
Fernbrook  returned  to  New  Zealand,  they  saw  the 
game  was  up — that  everything  would  be  discovered, 
and  all  parts  of  the  vast  machinery  of  the  law  set  in 
motion  to  capture  them. 

De  Roal  was  not  a  man  to  sit  down  quietly  in  de- 
spair when  danger  menaced  him.  On  the  contrary,  the 
greater  the  peril  pending,  the  higher  rose  that  self- 
satisfied  impudence  and  will-power  within  him  to 
meet  it  at  all  points.  At  a  glance  he  saw  that  the 
only  chance  of  escape  for  himself  and  his  comrades, 
lay  in  making  common  cause  with  the  Rebel  Maoris. 
Once  identified  with  the  Maori  chieftains  and  their 
hosts,  they  could  defy  the  law.  With  the  aid  of 
Te  Papa's  daughter,  who  in  her  heart  of  hearts  fully 
believed  that  the  usurper  Mauprat  was  what  he  pre- 
tended to  be,  and  at  his  solicitation,  Te  Coro  used  all 
her  influence  to  bring  about  the  desired  friendship  be- 
tween these  Pakehas  and  Paul  Titori,  which  appeal  was 
successful.  De  Roal,  with  Drummond  Blake  and  the 
Ferret,  joined  the  Rebels  at  Wiparia,  and  in  the  san- 


COLONEL  DE  ROAL'S  THEORY.  249 

guinary  engagement  which  followed  some  days  after  at 
Te  Muna,  between  Titori  and  the  force  under  Major  Den- 
ton,  the  three  white  men  gave  ample  proof  of  their  sin- 
cerity for  the  side  they  had  espoused.  Paul  Titori, 
who  shared  the  opinion  of  Te  Coro,  that  Victor  Mauprat 
was  the  bona  fide  Fernbrook,  wondered  why  he  re- 
mained absent  from  their  ranks.  It  was  on  his  behalf 
that  the  chieftain  had  accepted  service  from  the  others. 
Through  the  clairvoyant  Maori  girl,  the  Colonel  saw 
what  would  happen,  and  used  all  his  persuasive  powers 
to  induce  Mauprat  to  leave  the  Rock,  but  in  vain.  The 
convict  remained  to  fight  out  the  battle  to  the  bitter 
end,  as  we  have  seen. 

The  two  men  sat  silent  until  Mauprat,  lifting  his 
head  and  looking  full  at  the  ci-devant  Colonel,  broke 
the  silence :  "  What  is  your  opinion  of  this  fellow,  mon 
pb-e?" 

De  Roal  stroked  his  grizzly  moustache.  "  My  son," 
said  he,  "  an  old  French  writer  has  set  forth  a  text 
which  has  been  learned  by  many  a  clever  man  since  it 
was  written.  This  is  it ;  '  Suspect  what  seems  im- 
probable, to  be  true;  that  which  is  probable,  to  be 
false.'  We  will  apply  the  rnaxim  to  the  prisoner.  At 
daybreak  this  man  is  caught  prowling  round  the  cliff 
yonder.  He  is  in  uniform,  but  has  nothing  about  him 
in  the  way  of  a  weapon  of  defence,  not  even  so  much 
as  a  shot  or  pouch  belt.  He  tells  us  that  he  was  under 
the  sentence  of  a  court-martial  for  being  asleep  on  sen- 
try duty,  and  he  deserted,  dreading  the  punishment  to 
follow.  This  is  all  most  probable  ;  I  have  known  men 
who  would  rather  brave  certain  destruction  than  suffer 
the  degradation  of  the  lash,  and  certainly  this  fellow 
has  the  look  of  a  man  of  that  stamp.  I  say  that  the 
probabilities  are  that  our  prisoner  is  what  he  says  he 


250        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

is ;  but,  falling  back  on  the  French  adage,  I  do  not  be. 
lieve  it." 

Mauprat  nodded,  but  did  not  speak. 

"  The  improbabilities  take  shape  in  this  way,"  con- 
tinued De  Roal.  "  Throughout  the  whole  human  race 
— black,  white,  or  red — two  or  three  leading  charac- 
teristics are  indexed  upon  the  face,  but  it  is  only  by  the 
initiated  that  such  traits  can  be  deciphered  aright. 
Mark  me ;  this  man  has  eyes  that  would  not  wink  upon 
his  post.  Did  you  mark  with  what  a  keen  inquisitive 
look  he  took  in  the  whole  bearings  of  this  chamber  and 
its  occupants  ?  Not  a  nook,  nor  an  article,  to  the  most 
infinitesimal  measurement,  escaped  his  cool,  calculat- 
ing vision.  Bah !  Your  ordinary  fellow  would  have 
had  no  eyes,  no  thought  but  of  self,  under  the  circum- 
stances. Men  with  such  a  bold  space  between  the  eyes, 
with  such  a  massive  jaw,  and  long,  obstinate,  firm-set 
lips,  are  not  easily  tempted  to  drink  while  on  duty. 
My  opinion  is,  our  friend  could  not  be  turned  from  his 
duty — not  by  the  possibility  of  the  lash,  or  death  it- 
self!" 

Victor  Mauprat  uttered  a  low  chuckle.  "  These  are 
improbabilities,  man pere" 

"  Nothing  more,  my  son,"  he  cried,  moving  his 
wounded  arm  into  an  easier  position.  "Man's  reason 
becomes  sharpened  as  danger  gathers  about  him. 
Every  thought  of  the  brain  centres  upon  any  given 
point  with  that  subtle  endeavor  to  sift  and  analyze,  so 
that  even  improbabilities  are  cited  for  the  chance  of 
discovering  a  glimmer  of  the  truth." 

"  Theories  ! — nothing  more,  De  Roal." 

"  Cher  ami"  responded  the  other,  with  a  peculiar 
smile,  "  theory  is  the  parent  of  discovery.  It  is  said 
that  Fouch6  spent  the  best  part  of  his  youth  watching 


COLONEL  DE  ROAL'S  THEORY.       251 

the  antics  of  insects  beneath  the  lens  of  a  powerful 
raircoscope.  His  great  theory  of  the  by-ways  of  man- 
kind was  inaugurated  by  this  study.  It  is  improbable 
that  our  friend  yonder  is  an  Englishman,  for  he  said  he 
was  born  in  the  colony;  yet  the  boots  he  is  wearing 
were  never  made  in  New  Zealand.  No,  nor  were  they 
served  out  to  him  as  part  of  his  kit.  Nicholson,  of 
London,  measured  the  feet  for  the  boots.  I  know  the 
make  all  the  world  over.  Besides,  your  volunteer  has 
his  hair  cut  short,  and  sports  a  moustache ;  this  man 
is  shorn  like  a  priest,  and  has  a  head  on  him  like  that 
of  a  poet  out  at  elbows." 

" Sacre  bleu!  Who  the  devil  is  the  man?"  cried 
Mauprat,  starting  to  his  feet. 

"Nay,  my  son;  sit  down.  I  mean  to  test  these 
improbabilities  of  mine  e'er  the  sun  dips  behind  the 
Tonga  Peak.  Si  vis  pacem,  para  bettum." 


252        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

POOR  TB    COKO. 

THE  Auckland  Times  is  a  purely  Conservative  organ 
and  its  chief  delight  is  to  chronicle  the  doings  of  the 
Upper  Ten.  Under  the  heading  of  "Distinguished 
Visitors,"  it  devotes  a  column  and  a  half  to  the  arrival 
of  Prince  di  Roumaine  and  his  lovely  daughter,  the 
Lady  Violante,  together  with  their  suite.  In  a  purely 
Radical  community  (the  Times  notwithstanding),  it  is 
a  red-letter  day  to  have  a  real  live  Prince  amongst 
them.  Moreover,  the  interest  in  Prince  di  Roumaine 
and  his  belongings  is  considerably  augmented  by  a  full 
and  particular  account  of  that  romance  of  love  at 
Venice  between  the  fair  Violante  and  young  Warne,  the 
banker's  heir,  occupying  something  like  two  columns 
more  in  the  same  journal.  The  clubs — or  rather  the 
youthful  members  thereof — are  dying  for  an  introduc- 
tion to  the  charming  bride-elect,  whilst  some  of  the 
elders,  self-made  men  with  money,  strive  and  vie  with 
each  other  for  the  honor  of  presentation  to  "  His  High- 
ness." 

Lady  Blanche  Trevor,  who  has  taken  the  beautiful 
Italian  under  her  special  care,  is  charmed  with  the 
simplicity  and  sweetness  of  her  charge. 

The  days  go  by  very  pleasantly  for  both  father  and 
daughter,  in  the  new  land  at  the  Antipodes.  The  for- 
mer wonders  within  himself  at  the  stupendous  growth 
of  the  young  giant.  Here  he  sees  men  completely  freed 


1>OOR  TE  CORO.  253 

from  the  fetters  that  hamper  and  retard  older  and 
more  civilized  peoples,  men  with  the  thews  and  sinews 
and  will  to  transform,  with  the  wand  of  a  Prospero,  a 
wilderness  into  a  mighty  nation. 

The  tide  of  war  has  rolled  backward,  and  left  Society 
free  to  pursue  its  balls,  its  parties,  and  its  pleasures  at 
will.  For  Violante  there  is  but  one  endless  round  of 
that  butterfly  existence  which  the  votaries  of  Fashion 
call  gayety ;  but  although  she  is  the  belle  and  the  petted 
darling  of  the  most  select  set  in  New  Zealand,  their 
adulation  does  not  spoil  the  innate  gentleness  of  her 
disposition,  or  mar  the  kindliness  of  her  nature  or  the 
purity  of  her  mind. 

Prince  di  Roumaine,  prince  though  he  be,  has  kept 
his  word  with  the  plebeian  lover.  He  has  brought  his 
child  twelve  thouasnd  miles  to  give  her  in  marriage  to 
one  whom  he  believes  will  make  her  happy. 

It  is  a  grand  wedding :  no  gaudy  show  to  please  the 
eyes  of  the  vulgar  here,  but  a  quiet  select  gathering 
where  each  personage  present  is  a  somebody — each 
lady  as  beautiful  and  accomplished  as  the  bride  herself, 
The  world  goes  on  much  the  same  when  the  bride  and 
bridegroom  emerge  into  it  as  one — only  it  seems  a  new 
world  to  them,  and  filled  with  brighter  shapes  than 
are  seen  by  those  whose  first  romance  of  love  has  gone 
for  evermore. 

The  Italian  patrician  goes  back  again  to  his  ances- 
tral halls  by  the  sunny  shores  of  the  Adriatic,  and 
Violante  begins  to  lead  a  life  of  usefulness  and  love. 

At  the  Barrier  Rock  the  wheel  of  life  moves  its  round 
of  dull  monotony,  one  fine  day  the  image  of  its  fellow. 
Every  city  mail  brings  invitations  from  the  fashionable 
world  to  Hilton  Fernbrook,  but  the  Master  of  the  Rock 
has  no  time  for  idleness  and  frivolity.  His  estate  is 


254       THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

on  the  threshold  of  bankruptcy,  and  he  must  work  to 
retrieve  his  losses.  "  It  is  a  fight  with  Fate,"  he  says, 
with  a  laugh,  "  and  I  mean  to  cheat  the  jade." 

His  strange  story  has  been  a  nine-days'  wonder,  and 
then  has  given  place  to  some  other  wonder,  as  all 
things  must  in  this  bustling  sphere.  Friends  have 
offered  their  congratulations  in  scores,  and  a  few  of 
them  practical  help ;  yet  neither  good  wishes  nor  the 
ready  sympathy  of  amicable  neighbors  was  half  as 
sweet  to  him  as  the  shy  look  of  welcome  from  the 
haughty  Blanche  Trevor.  To  him  there  was  a  whole- 
souled  interest  in  her  every  look  and  word. 

"  The  usurper  has  fled,  and  left  you  an  empty  coffer 
as  a  memento  of  his  cleverness,"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  I  care  not,  so  long  as  he  did  not  rob  me  of  your 
love !  "  And  my  lady  sighs  and  blushes  like  a  school- 
.girl,  under  the  glance  of  his  eloquent,  pleading  eyes. 

To  Rita  the  wheel  revolves  as  was  its  wont  when  her 
young  master  came  home  for  his  first  holiday.  The 
watchful,  suspicious  look  has  vanished  from  her  face 
now,  and  she  moves  about  less  cat-like.  The  old  house- 
keeper cannot  comprehend  how  one  man  can  so  closely 
resemble  another  as  to  defy  detection,  though  Hilton 
has  tried  to  impress  the  fact  upon  her  a  hundred  times. 
The  incredulous  Maori  goes  her  way  muttering,  "  How 
can  it  be  ?  Who  shall  stand  in  the  young  Eaglet's  place 
and  deceive  me  ?  No  one  can  be  in  two  places  at  the 
same  time — unless  he  is  aided  by  the  dread  fiend  Te 
Torva.  Ah,  my  master !  I  am  glad  to  look  at  your  face 
again,  now  the  devil  has  gone." 

Te  Coro  heard  the  story  of  Hilton  Fernbrook's  return 
with  infinite  amazement.  To  her  it  came  like  revela- 
tion of  some  deed  perpetrated  under  the  influence  of 
a  powerful  opiate.  What  had  she  done? — given  her 


POOR  TE  CORO.  255 

virgin  love  to  a  felon  and  a  murderer !  Alas  !  it  was 
so.  Whatever  extenuation  there  might  be  for  her 
under  the  circumstances,  the  degradation  and  shame 
were  none  the  less  for  her.  She — the  daughter  of  New 
Zealand's  proudest  chieftain,  to  be  so  entrapped  and 
dishonored !  Bah !  Te  Papa's  blood  was  in  her  veins 
and  his  courage  in  her  heart.  Though  she  was  but  a 
woman  and  a  Maori,  she  vowed  silently  to  find  this 
man,  and  kill  him,  without  the  faintest  shadow  of  turn- 
ing from  her  fell  purpose.  To  resolve  was  to  act  as 
speedily  with  Te  Coro,  but  with  caution,  as  became  the 
instincts  of  her  race.  She  remembered  how  this  man 
had  wished  to  espouse  the  Maori  cause  against  the 
Government ;  how  to  that  end  she  had  brought  about 
a  meeting  between  him  and  the  Rebel  Titori.  Wher- 
ever was  the  Rebel  encampment,  there  she  would  find 
the  pretender.  That  same  evening  she  began  her  task. 

Fernbrook  was  in  the  library  after  tea,  looking  over 
his  file  of  newspapers  received  from  Auckland.  A  tap 
at  the  door.  "  Come  in." 

"  It  is  only  I,"  says  Te  Coro,  peeping  through  the 
doorway. 

"  Truant !  When  did  you  return  ?  "  cries  the  young 
man,  with  a  friendly  nod  and  a  smile.  "  Take  a  seat, 
and  tell  me  what  good  fortune  has  wafted  you  back 
again  to  this  dull  abode  ?  " 

"  There  now,  my  good  relative,  dear  old  Rita,  would 
have  me  believe  that  this  same  "  dull  abode,"  as  you 
term  it,  has  been  an  Eden  during  my  absence,"  replies 
the  girl,  with  a  merry  laugh.  "  By  the  way,  Mrs.  Gay- 
land  has  been  very  ill." 

"  Yes  ;  I  saw  mention  of  it  in  the  Times.  The  lady 
has  had  excellent  nursing." 

"  I  thank  you.     Is  that  a  compliment  ?  " 


256        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

"  I  trust  you  do  not  think  me  so  ungallant  as  to 
mean  it  in  any  other  sense,  my  dear  Te  Coro,"  he  says, 
at  the  same  time  handing  her  a  chair. 

"  Oh,  it  only  seems  yesterday,  as  it  were,  since  you 
and  I  used  to  romp  below  on  yonder  green,"  she  says, 
seating  herself,  and  looking  steadfastly  at  him. 
"  Now,  it  is  my  dear  Te  Coro — and  Miss  Te  Coro — and 
what  not." 

The  young  man  laughs.  "  Well,"  he  says,  "I  only 
hope  the  usurper  was  as  temperate  in  his  conversation, 
my  Puni  Peko." 

A  sudden  frown  wrinkles  the  girl's  face,  and  makes 
its  beauty  almost  hideous.  "  Bah  !  Do  not  mention 
the  monster,"  she  says,  in  a  low  tone.  "  Why  did  you 
suffer  him  to  depart  ?  Had  I  been  in  your  place,  I 
would  have  shot  the  villain  dead  on  the  spot." 

"  Humph !  Have  you  seen  the  papers  ?  The  Times 
reports  that  my  worthy  representative  and  his  friends 
are  with  Paul  Titori  at  the  Block  Pah,  on  the  Wairoa !  " 

"  I  have  not  seen  the  papers,"  she  adds,  with  a 
smile. 

"  Of,  course,  I  forgot ;  ladies  are  not  interested  in 
these  things." 

"  Pardon  me,  I  am  concerned  in  everything  connected 
with  my  poor  misguided  race,"  she  answers  quietly. 

"It  is  to  be  regretted  that  Maori  and  Pakeha cannot 
live  in  peace,"  he  replies.  "Colonel  Chesterton  has 
crossed  over  into  Taurauga  with  three  regiments  to 
attack  Titori  in  his  stronghold  at  Judea.  Perchance  a 
stray  bullet  from  a  volunteer  may  end  the  career  of 
Victor  Mauprat,  the  convict,  and  his  confederates." 

Te  Coro  did  not  reply.  Taking  out  a  book  from  her 
embroidered  tamba,  she  began  to  write  therein.  Hilton 
Fernbrook  watched  her  with  some  curiosity. 


POOR  TE  CORO.  257 

"  I  am  only  jotting  down  the  name  of  the  usurper," 
she  says,  in  reply  to  his  look  of  interrogation.  "  I  have 
never  heard  it  till  this  moment.  And  now,  I  must  say 
good-bye." 

"  Are  you  going  away  again,  Te  Coro  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  for  I  had  been  looking  for- 
ward for  a  quiet  rest  in  this  dear,  dull,  gloomy,  sea- 
bound  prison,  where  you  and  I  were  cradled,  Hilton 
Fernbrook,  and  where  I  intend  listening  to  your  won- 
derful experiences  in  other  lands.  Kiki  tuio  mart.  I 
must  postpone  my  pleasures  for  a  more  convenient 
season." 

"  Why,  pray  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Gayland  is  my  patient.  The  physician  did 
me  the  honor  to  ascribe  my  friend's  recovery  to  my 
excellent  nursing  rather  than  to  his  skill.  Compliment- 
ary, rather — but  scarcely  true.  We  are  ordered  a 
change  of  scene,  and  I  am  pledged  to  accompany  my 
friend.  I  must  go,  sir.  Ta-ta ! " 

"  Where  do  you  intend  going  ?  " 

"  To  the  Wonderland  of  this  wonderful  country — 
the  hot  springs  at  Wairoa,"  she  replies,  laughing. 
"  For  some  months  we  intend  to  throw  off  the  usages 
of  civilization,  and  become  wanderers  and  pilgrims 
round  Rotomahana.  We  shall  scale  the  Fire  Mount, 
Rotorua ;  and  bask  in  the  sunny  ripples  of  Lake  Tara- 
wera.  Our  eyes  shall  behold  the  Maori  War-god,  who 
stands  with  his  flaming  meri  at  the  rugged  gates  of  the 
Pink  and  White  Terraces,  the  wonder  and  envy  of  the 
great  round  world — the " 

"  Pray  pause  and  take  breath,"  he  interjects. 

"  Sir,  you  will  have  to  do  penance  for  interrupting 
me,"  she  cries.  "  I  want  a  boon." 

"  Ask,  and  it  is  granted,  Te  Coro," 


258       THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

"  You  are  not  wise." 

"  Why  so,  Uhi  Titif  (My  darling). 

"Because  I  am  a  woman,  and  I  may  want  the  moon." 

"  Say,  rather,  the  man  in  it,  Te  Coro ! "  he  rejoins 
gayly. 

"  That  is  certainly  nearer  to  my  request,  sir.  Bosco 
the  Maori,  was  my  father's  foster-brother.  Cau  Bosco 
accompany  me  to  Wairoa  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Then,  I  will  say  good-bye,"  she  responds,  rising. 
"I  see  you  are  impatient  to  get  back  again  to  the 
Times." 

"One  moment — that  reminds  me.  This  struggle 
between  the  Rebels  and  our  men  appears  to  be  drifting 
round  to  the  vicinity  of  Rotomahana.  Will  your  trip 
be  free  from  danger  ?  " 

There  is  a  flash  from  the  girl's  magnificent  black 
eyes.  "Tut!"  she  says.  "Am  I  not  a  Maori — the 
daughter  of  Te  Papa?" 

Fernbrook  smiles.  "Well,  then,  I  hope  you  will 
return  soon.  Be  good  enough  to  tender  my  regards  to 
your  fair  friend,  and  a  wish  for  her  speedy  recovery." 

Te  Coro  has  her  hand  on  the  door,  when  her  com- 
panion remembers  something  he  had  to  say :  "  Did 
I  mention  to  you  that  a  gentleman  named  Dusk  ac- 
companied me  from  England  here  ?  "  he  asks. 

"  No." 

"Write  the  name  in  your  book,  beside  that  of  a 
Victor  Mauprat,  Mr.  Dusk  is  somewhere  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Mount  Tarawera,  and  you  may 
possibly  meet." 

Te  Coro  obeys. 

"  Has  your  friend  decided  to  view  the  wonders  of 
Maoriland  ?  "  she  asks, 


POOR  TE  COEO.  259 

"  I  think  not.  The  man  is  a  detective.  His  mission 
is  to  find  our  friend  the  convict,  and  take  him  back 
again  to  jail." 

Te  Coro  shudders  and  retires  noiselessly. 

The  great  wheel  of  life  moves  round  slowly  for 
Victorine  Gayland.  Each  revolution  has  its  pain  and 
its  tears  for  her,  spite  of  all  her  pride  and  her  phi- 
losophy. The  elite  wend  the  even  tenor  of  their  way 
as  heretofore,  and  do  not  miss  their  leader.  They 
marry  and  are  given  in  marriage,  and  dance,  and  jig, 
and  amble,  and  lisp,  and  nickname  one  another,  just 
the  same  as  if  the  poor,  weak,  suffering  worm  of 
Fashion  had  never  queened  it  over  them.  Poor 
Victorine  Gayland !  rest  thy  sorrowing  head  upon  the 
soft  bosom  of  Te  Coro — faithful  until  death  for  thee. 
Let  the  lights  gleam  upon  fair  women  and  handsome 
men.  Let  diamonds  sparkle  and  soft  music  roll 
amidst  all  the  splendor  that  money  can  produce.  It  is 
only  Dead  Sea  fruit,  after  all — a  hollow  sham ! 

Amos  Ward  calls  often  to  see  the  patient,  but  he 
knows  now  there  is  no  hope  for  him  beyond  her  friend- 
ship. Love  is  dead  within  the  soul  of  Major  Hargrave's 
daughter.  Ah !  how  she  longs  and  yearns  for  her  old 
life  again,  in  that  poor  cottage  on  the  sea  wall.  The 
needy  griping  penury  that  made  her  sour  and  dis- 
satisfied would  be  thrice  welcome  now,  if  it  could  bring 
with  it  her  dead  father,  and  that  one  love  which  was 
lost  to  her  forever.  She  had  prayed  for  riches,  and 
lo !  they  were  hers  in  abundance.  Heaven  help  her — 
how  powerless  they  were! 

Save  Te  Coro,  no  one  knew — or  would  ever  know, 
for  the  matter  of  that — how  near  this  woman  of  the 
world  had  been  to  self-destruction.  From  the  con- 
templation of  the  awful  act  the  unhappy  Victorine  re- 


260        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

coiled  with  horror.  Henceforth  she  would  think  of  it 
no  more,  nor  of  the  cause  thereof.  Out  of  the  dark- 
ness had  come  to  her  a  glimmer  of  light  and  hope — the 
hope  which  often  stimulates  the  world-weary,  who 
have  discovered  that  all  which  glitters  is  riot  gold. 
Not  at  the  shrine  of  Saint  or  the  footstool  of  Priest,  but 
to  "  Our  Father,  which  art  in  Heaven,"  did  Victorine 
Gayland  vow  to  devote  the  remainder  of  her  life.  The 
poor  were  to  be  her  field ;  and  her  mission — charity. 
Get  well  quickly,  dear  lady,  and  enter  upon  thy  good 
work  I 


WAKD'S  KIFLES.  261 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

WARD'S   KIFLES. 

ROUND  and  round  turns  the  wheel  of  life,  with  many 
a  mad  revolution  for  Amos  Ward.  He  is  a  man  of 
energetic  and  combative  temperament,  one  of  that 
obstinate,  hard-headed  breed  which  is  the  strength  of 
the  Greater  Britain  which  is  surely  rising  at  the  An- 
tipodes. To  sit  down  and  bemoan  his  fate — to  cry  and 
pule  like  a  love-sick  girl  because  a  woman's  caprice 
stands  between  His  Worship  and  earthly  bliss  ? 
Pshaw!  The  Mayor  of  Auckland  is  a  man  of  the 
world,  in  its  most  practical,  work-a-day  sense.  He 
knows  that  Victorine  Gayland  has  spoken  the  fiat 
which  has  surely  blasted  every  hope  of  his  social 
existence.  He  feels  that  something  has  gone  out  of 
his  life ;  but  forth  from  the  utter  loneliness  within 
him  rises  his  salvation.  He  must  work !  Ay,  that  is 
it,  your  Worship.  Work  has  been  the  saviour  of 
many  a  better  man  ere  now. 

He  casts  about  him  for  something  to  do.  No 
ordinary  work  will  suit  his  present  malady.  Besides, 
lie  is  rich,  very  rich,  and  most  of  his  wealth  is  to  his 
hand  in  current  coin  of  the  realm.  What  work  can  he 
undertake  in  his  position  ?  While  he  sits  thinking  out 
the  problem,  Phil  Brock  solves  it  for  him  in  half  a 
dozen  words : 

"Arrah  !  what  the  devil  is  the  matter  wid  ye,  sorr, 
that  ye're  mopin'  about  like  a  calf  that  has  lost  its 


262        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

mother  ?  "  cries  the  irrepressible  valet.  "  Come,  now, 
buy  a  rifle,  an'  be  off  wid  ye  to  fight  the  Maoris.  Why 
don't  ye,  agra  ?  " 

"  Good !  I  have  it,"  responds  the  master,  his  blue 
eyes  ablaze  with  inspiration,  and  rising  from  his  seat. 

"Musha,  an'  much  good  may  it  do  you,"  responds 
the  other,  looking  at  the  Mayor  in  a  doubtful  way,  as 
if  not  quite  certain  about  his  sanity.  "  Tell  me  what 
you've  got,  avick !  Is  it  the  gumgecum,  or  a  touch  of 
hydrophobia?  say,  alannah!" 

"  You  old  villain — how  dare " 

"  There  you  go !  Of  course  I'm  the  worst  in  the 
world,  bekase  of  my  sympathy,"  interrupted  Brock, 
with  a  look  of  wounded  innocence. 

Amos  Ward  laughed.  "  Look  here,  Phil,  how  would 
you  like  to  join  the  volunteers,  eh  ?" 

"Me — is  it?"  responds  the  confidential  servant, 
with  a  stare.  "  Is  it  ould  Phil  Brock  to  be  a  militia- 
man— an'  wear  a  red  coat  that  doesn't  seem  to  cover 
a  man's  redundancy  ?  Go  along  out  o'  that  wid  ye. 
Shure  it's  only  joking  ye  are  ! " 

"Indeed,  I'm  not,  Phil.  Your  words  gave  me  an 
idea,  and  by  Jove,  I'll  do  it." 

"  Do  what,  master  dear  ?  " 

"  Raise  a  regiment  and  go  out  and  fight  the  Rebel 
Maoris." 

Poor  Brock  held  up  his  hands  in  dumb  amaze.  He 
had  had  his  doubts  about  his  master — Lord  help  him  ! 
— but  this  settled  it. 

There  were  many  others  besides  the  faithful  Phil 
who  began  to  have  misgivings  respecting  Ward's 
soundness  of  brain,  but  the  man  went  his  way  not 
heeding.  He  had  found  an  outlet  for  his  trouble,  and 
that  was  sufficient  for  him.  He  banqueted  the  city 


WARD'S  RIFLES.  263 

councillors,  and  resigned  his  mayoralty  within  the 
week ;  then  commenced  to  put  his  scheme  into  opera- 
tion. To  a  man  with  money  at  his  command,  there 
was  no  difficulty  in  getting  a  body  of  men  suitable  for 
the  purpose.  Indeed,  at  the  liberal  scale  of  pay  of- 
fered, Amos  Ward  could  have  enrolled  six  thousand 
rank  and  file  as  easily  as  six  hundred. 

The  Government  of  the  day  gladly  availed  them- 
selves of  the  reinforcement.  They  provided  competent 
drill  instructors  and  arms  for  them — bestowed  the 
local  rank  of  Colonel  upon  the  founder,  and  in  a  very 
short  time  "  Ward's  Rifles  "  were  ready  for  the  field. 

The  new  corps  did  not  waste  much  time  in  the  City 
of  Auckland.  Before  the  men  were  fairly  initiated  into 
the  manual  and  platoon  exercises,  they  received  orders 
to  march  to  the  aid  of  the  Commander  of  the  Local 
Forces,  Colonel  Chesterton,  at  Taurauga. 

Tonga  and  Te  Huri,  Chieftains  of  Taranaki,  together 
with  their  warlike  tribes,  had  joined  Paul  Titori  in  the 
Rotomahana  district,  a  most  difficult  part  of  the  country 
for  an  attacking  force  to  operate  against  an  enemy, 
inasmuch  as  almost  every  hill  and  mount  formed  an 
almost  impregnable  position.  Two  years  previous  to 
our  tale,  the  dissatisfied  Maoris  were  at  work  fortify- 
ing and  strengthening  every  point  of  vantage  round 
and  about  the  famous  Mount  Rotorua.  The  Gate  Pah, 
the  stronghold  at  Judea,  together  with  the  Block  Fort, 
formed  three  of  the  strongest  positions  of  the  Rebels  ; 
and  had  the  Maori  leader  been  supplied  with  cannon, 
the  volunteers,  brave  and  effective  as  they  certainly 
were,  would  have  been  utterly  powerless  to  cope  with 
him.  It  was  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Gate  Pah,  a  few 
miles  west  of  Taurauga,  that  Colonel  Ward  first  en- 
countered the  enemy.  The  gunboat  "  Harrier  "  had 


264        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

brought  the  corps  from  Auckland  and  landed  them  at 
the  settlement — Bay  of  Plenty.  One  hundred  blue- 
jackets from  the  warships,  with  two  small  Armstrong 
guns  accompanied  the  Rifles  in  their  march  to  join  Col- 
onel Chesterton,  whose  camp  lay  beyond  Tonga's  Peak. 
The  reinforcements  had  safely  crossed  the  ford  at 
Wairoa,  and  were  bivouacked  for  the  night  on  a  high 
ridge,  overlooking  the  river.  Lieutenants  Baker  and 
Howard,  of  the  "  Harrier,"  with  that  ready  tact  innate 
in  seamen,  had  rigged  up  an  alfresco  mess-room  for 
the  nonce,  and,  with  sailor-like  hospitality,  invited 
Ward  and  his  officers  to  join  them  at  dinner.  What- 
ever may  have  been  wanting  in  the  way  of  silver  and 
glass  at  this  primitive  banquet,  there  was  certainly  no 
lack  of  provisions  and  wine,  for  Jack  usually  takes 
care  to  accommodate  himself  under  any  circumstances 
and  in  all  places.  While  the  men  gathered  in  groups 
along  the  line  of  piled  arms,  their  comrades,  the  sea- 
men, made  a  roaring  fire  of  kauri  logs.  A  fiddle  was 
unearthed  from  the  recesses  of  a  gun-carriage  and  songs 
and  jokes  became  the  order  of  the  evening. 

Phil  Brock,  though  disdaining  drill  or  discipline  in 
toto,  had  donned  the  uniform  of  the  Rifles  and  followed 
his  master.  A  knot  of  petty  officers  had  gathered  in  a 
circle,  within  speaking  distance  of  the  mess,  ready  to 
be  at  the  call  of  their  superiors  within  the  tent. 
Amongst  them  was  the  confidential  servant,  close  along- 
side a  coxswain,  by  name  Bill  Halcombe,  for  whose 
company  the  Irishman  had  taken  a  fancy.  There  was 
no  lack  of  pipes  or  grog  among  them,  and  they  soon 
began  to  be  as  mellow  as  men  under  such  conditions 
always  are. 

Snarly,  and  betimes  unsocial  to  morbidness,  Brock 
seemed  to  be  in  great  good  humor  with  himself  and 


WARD'S  RIFLES.  265 

with  those  around  him  now.  He  was  the  talker  on 
this  occasion,  the  sailors  listening.  Others  were  listen- 
ing,  too,  for  the  officers  in  the  mess  tent  could  hear 
every  word  he  uttered. 

"  Bad  cess  to  me,  but  it's  the  truth  I'm  tellin'  yez, 
boys,"  with  a  grim  laugh.  "  The  ugliest  divvies  ye 
ever  saw,  some  of  them  same  '  Ward's  Rifles,'  wid 
their  goose-step,  and  their  '  pressents  '  and  *  shoulder 
arrum's,'  an'  the  like.  Shure,  there's  not  one  o'  them 
could  hit  a  mountain  at  five  paces  distant.  Bedad, 
just  wait  until  there's  a  row,  that's  all ;  ye'll  see  some 
fine  divarsion,  if  the  Maoris  come  on  us." 

"  The  Maoris  be  blowed !  "  responds  Bill.  "  I  guess 
these  chaps  will  fight  like  tarnation  if  they  have  a 
chance.  A  finer  body  of  men  couldn't  be  got  together 
in  the  country.  Pass  the  pannikin,  old  man." 

"  Oh,  faix,  they're  big  enough,"  says  Phil,  placing 
a  tin  pot  to  his  mouth  that  contained  something  more 
aromatic  than  water,  then  passing  the  can  to  his  com- 
rade. "  That  reminds  me,  ma  bouchal,  when  I  was  a 
gossoon,  thirty-five  years  ago,  I  belonged  to  the  North 
Cork  Rifles  Militia,  and  in  the  same  company  was  a 
tall  scaffold-pole  of  a  fellow,  about  your  own  height 
and  build,  agra.  This  man  was  always  looking  down 
at  his  feet,  which,  let  me  tell  you,  were  not  great 
beauties  in  the  laste.  Tall  as  the  spalpeen  was,  there 
was  a  good  portion  of  him  on  the  ground  in  the  make- 
up of  them  same  feet,  which  I  may  say  had  no  more 
instep  on  them  than  a  brick  has.  Well,  begorra! 
we  had  the  smallest  officer  for  a  captain  that  ye  ever  set 
your  two  eyes  on.  He  wasn't  five  feet  high — an'  wid  his 
heels  to  his  boots  three  inches  long.  One  morning  the 
captain  sees  Madigan  (the  long  gander)  wid  his  head 
down  as  usual — up  he  goes  and  stands  fore-ninst  the 


266        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

man,  an'  siz  he  l  Arrah,  hould  up  yer  head.'  Madigan 
lifts  his  eyes  from  his  boots  and  fixes  them  on  the  sky. 
'  Now,'  siz  the  little  man,  '  let  me  see  you  always 
hould  up  yer  head  like  that.'  '  Always  ? '  cries  the 
long  fellow.  '  Yes,  sir,  always,'  ses'  the  captain. 
'  Good-bye,  then,'  retorts  Madigan,  houlding  out  his 
hand.  '  I  shall  never  see  you  again  ! '  " 

There  was  a  roar  of  laughter  from  the  mess. 

"  Listen  to  the  blaguards,"  says  Phil,  in  an  Irish 
whisper.  "  Shure  a  dacent  man  can't  be  talking  to  his 
neighbor,  but  they  must  be  listening  to  all  you're  say- 
ing, just  as  if  it  was  treason.  Where's  their  manners, 
I  wonder  ?  It's  mighty  good-natured  some  people  can 
be  when  they've  had  a  skinful  of  good  liquor ;  never 
dreaming  that  a  poor  body  has  a  mouth  on  them." 
(In  a  louder  key) — "  I'll  lay  ye  now  that  the  master's 
as  full  as  an  egg." 

Another  peal  of  laughter  from  all  save  the  Colonel, 
who  instantly  became  as  red  in  the  face  as  a  turkey- 
cock.  Phil  had  shot  his  bolt,  and  did  not  wait  the 
issue.  "  It's  a  quare  world,  mate,"  says  he,  gliding 
off  into  another  topic  with  true  diplomacy.  "  I  remim- 
ber  when  I  came  out  to  the  colonies,  we  had  an  ould 
couple  on  board  by  the  name  of  Mr.  and  Missus  Brophy. 
They  were  saloon  passengers,  if  ye  plase,  an'  they  gave 
more  throuble  then  all  the  other  two  hundred  men  and 
women  in  the  ship.  Ould  Brophy  was  throubled  with 
windy  spasms  and  colic — a  murderin'  sudden  and  pain- 
ful complaint.  It  would  come  on  him  all  in  a  minute — 
sometimes  in  the  daytime,  sometimes  in  the  dead  of 
night.  The  moment  her  husband  began  to  groan  Mis- 
tress Norah  Brophy  would  start  up,  rush  to  the  cuddy, 
make  a  thunderin'  big  mustard-and-pepper  poultice  and 
apply  it  in  a  jiffey.  In  the  very  next  cabin  to  the  Bro- 


WARD'S  RIFLES.  267 

phys  was  a  great  rough  Colonel,  who  had  lost  an  eye 
and  one  of  his  arrums  in  the  Crimee ;  and  be  jabers,  one 
night  ould  Brophy  has  an  attack  of  his  inimy  the  colic. 
Away  rushes  his  wife  to  the  ship's  caboose,  makes  the 
plaster,  but  in  the  hurry  the  poor  woman  mistook  the 
Colonel's  cabin  for  her  own.  Widout  a  word  she  whips 
down  the  bedclothes,  and  dabs  the  poultice  on  the  sa- 
cred person  of  the  slumbering  son  of  Mars.  Whoop  ! 
Be  the  powers,  if  there  wasn't  a  murtherin'  philalloo 
the  next  minnit  that  roused  everybody  in  the  ship 
from  stiui  to  starn.  The  Colonel  was  out  of  his  bunk 
in  a  twinkling,  and  drawing  his  naked  sword,  chased 
the  misfortunate  woman  for  her  bare  life.  The  Cap- 
tain, hearing  the  row,  rushed  below  just  in  time  to 
receive  Norah  Brophy  in  his  arms. 

"  '  What's  the  matter  ? '  cried  the  Skipper. 

" '  Matter ! '  echoes  the  Colonel,  furiously,  at  the 
same  time  dabbing  the  point  of  his  weapon  into  the 
poultice  which  had  fallen  from  him  to  his  feet.  <  Look 
at  this,  sir.  This  is  a  very  good  joke,  eh?  Now,  I 
want  to  know  who's  done  me  the  honor  to  apply  this 
article  to  my  unoffending  person  without  my  author- 
ity?" 

"The  Captain  coughed:  'My  dear  Colonel,  your 
habiliments  are  hardly  in  conformity  with  the  rules  of 
high  etiquette,'  ses  he. 

'"Hang  etiquette!'  roared  the  Colonel.  'If  it 
comes  to  that,  you're  not  standing  on  ceremony,  Cap- 
tain Dawson,  for  you're  not  in  full  uniform.'" 

A  roar  of  laughter  drowned  the  remainder  of 
Brock's  story,  and  in  the  midst  of  it  there  walked 
into  the  circle  a  tall  personage,  clad  in  a  sober  brown 
tweed. 

The  appearance  of  the  man  was  so  sudden  and  unex- 


268        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

pected,  that  the  sailors  started  to  their  feet  with  an 
exclamation  of  surprise. 

"  Don't  stir,  ray  men,"  he  said  in  a  quiet,  cool  tone. 
"  Be  good  enough  to  find  Colonel  Ward,  and  say  an 
old  friend  wishes  to  see  him.  " 

"  It's  Mister  Fernbrook,  sure  enough !  "  cried  Phil, 
lifting  his  cap.  "  Step  this  way,  sir — here's  the  mas- 
ter." 

"Hallo,  Fernbrook!  Who  would  have  thought  of 
seeing  you  here  in  this  part  of  the  country  ?  "  exclaimed 
Ward,  rising  and  shaking  the  new-comer  by  the  hand. 
"  Gentlemen,  this  is  an  old  friend,  Mr.  Hilton  Fern- 
brook,  of  the  Barrier  Rock." 

Another  powder-keg  is  brought  for  a  chair,  and  a 
fresh  supply  of  grog  put  on  the  board.  "  Let  me  ask 
if  you  have  dined? "  said  Ward. 

"  Yes,  thanks ;  I  had  a  capital  dinner  at  the  Wel- 
lington Wairoa,  where  I  am  obliged  to  stay  for  a  few 
days  on  business.  It  was  my  intention  to  have  jour- 
neyed with  you  from  Taurauga,  but  the  mail-boat  from 
Auckland  broke  her  shaft  opposite  the  Three  Kings, 
and  we  were  delayed.  By  the  way,  you  have  a  superb 
dining-hall — quite  Arcadian."  The  voice  is  jaunty, 
with  an  easy,  well-bred  ring  in  it,  but  the  eyes  wander 
keenly  over  the  faces  of  those  present. 

"  How  did  you  find  our  route  ? "  asks  the  Colonel, 
presently. 

"  Quite  easy.  Old  Tepari,  of  Te  Rauga,  saw  you 
pass  yesterday,  and  assisted  you  to  ford  the  Wairoa 
this  afternoon.  He  it  was  who  brought  me  hither, 
otherwise  I'm  afraid  I  should  have  found  myself  in  the 
middle  of  a  swamp,  or  at  the  bottom  of  the  river." 

The  conversation  begins  to  flow  freely  now,  for 
Fernbrook  fits  himself  into  his  place  in  the  company, 


WARD'S  RIFLES.  269 

as  if  he  had  filled  it  all  the  evening.  The  punch  flows 
freely,  as  does  the  talk.  Every  conceivable  topic  is  in- 
troduced and  skimmed  over  with  that  light,  airy,  after- 
dinner  brevity  which  makes  mess  dinner  so  attractive. 
Last,  but  by  no  means  least,  it  veers  round  to  the  dis- 
turbed state  of  the  country  and  the  chances  of  the 
parties  engaged.  By  a  few  subtle  questions,  Fern- 
brook  has  led  his  companions  to  the  subject,  and 
appears  deeply  interested  in  all  they  say. 

"  The  Maoris  have  a  hopeless  task,  and  must  suc- 
cumb in  the  end,"  says  Howard.  "  The  ablest  Rebel 
against  us  is  Paul  Titori,  but  the  flower  of  his  follow- 
ing were  slain  in  the  Waikato  Campaign.  Two  years 
ago  Titori  had  thirty  thousand  warriors  at  his  beck 
and  call;  to  day  he  has  not  one-third  that  number, 
though  he  has  been  reinforced  by  the  Taranaki  tribes." 

"  I  heard  in  Taurauga  that  the  Rebels  have  their 
strongest  pah  in  this  part  of  the  country,"  responds 
Fernbrook.  "  Tepari  assures  me  that  the  whole  force 
of  Colonel  Chesterton  is  not  sufficient  to  attack  any 
one  of  these  places.  His  handful  of  men  would  be 
annihilated." 

Howard  laughs.  "  The  friendly  Maori  knows  very 
little  of  the  fighting  spirit  of  our  men.  I  dare  wager 
that  every  pah  in  Rotomahana  is  taken  and  demolished 
before  the  end  of  the  year." 

"  Where  is  Colonel  Chesterton,  may  I  ask  ?  " 

"  At  Tonga's  Peak." 

"  Of  course  he  has  a  large  force  with  him  ?  " 

"  No,  about  two  thousand  all  told,"  responds  Howard. 
"  Once  we  join  him,  Titori  may  prepare  for  squalls ; 
for  I  know  by  my  Waikato  experience  with  Chesterton, 
that  hard  knocks  will  be  the  order  of  the  day." 

"  Two  thousand  fighting  men  against  twenty  thou- 


270        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

sand  or  even  ten  thousand  fighting  Maoris  seems  to  me 
a  risky  project,"  says  Fernbrook ;  "  I  suppose  your 
corps  "  (turning  to  Ward)  "  does  not  exceed  a  thou- 
sand men  ?  " 

"  Six  hundred." 

"  Ah,  and  recruits  all,  I  reckon  ?  " 

"  Quite  so,  my  dear  Fernbrook ;  yet  I  think  the  lads 
will  give  a  good  account  of  themselves." 

"  I  trust  they  may,  Colonel,"  responds  the  guest, 
sipping  his  punch.  "  I  heard  some  talk  of  five  regi- 
ments of  volunteers  having  been  raised  in  Australian 
colonies.  Is  that  correct  ?  " 

"  It  is,  sir,"  replies  Howard.  "  Our  Skipper  had  a 
letter  from  the  Commodore,  stating  that  the  men  were 
on  their  way  to  Auckland  per  'Blue  Jacket'  and 
'  Swiftsure '  steamers." 

"Bad  news  for  our  friend  Titori?" 

"  Ay.  The  Chieftain  is  a  foeman  worthy  of  our 
steel,  and  I'm  sorry  he  is  not  with  us." 

From  Paul  Titori  to  Colonel  de  Roal  and  his  con- 
federates, the  conversation  goes  at  a  bound.  Fern- 
brook  listens  while  the  others  fill  in  their  opinions 
without  the  smallest  shadow  of  reserve.  Once  or 
twice  the  guest  is  appealed  to,  but  he  adroitly  staves 
off  any  direct  reply,  save  only  when  it  serves  as  a 
means  of  opening  up  the  subject  more  fully. 

It  is  late  when  Colonel  Ward's  friends  rise  to  depart. 
"  My  dear  fellow,  you  will  stay  and  share  my  rough 
couch  to-night  ?  "  he  asks. 

Fernbrook  shakes  his  head.  "  Not  when  I  can  get 
a  comfortable  bed  at  mine  inn,"  he  replied.  "  I  have 
spent  a  very  pleasant  evening,  gentlemen,  and  can 
only  wish  that  at  no  distant  day  I  may  have  the 
pleasure  of  your  company  at  the  Rock." 


WARD'S  RIFLES.  271 

"  Let  me  send  a  file  of  my  men  with  you  as  far  as 
the  river  ?  " 

"  Thanks.  The  friendly  Maori  is  waiting  for  me  at 
the  base  of  the  ridge.  Good-night !  I  trust  the  for- 
tunes of  war  will  bring  you  honor  and  distinction. 
Any  commands  for  the  city  ?  " 

"None,  Fernbrook.     Aurevoir/" 

The  tall  figure  goes  down  the  hill,  whistling  a  snatch 
of  a  familiar  opera  air,  and  Colonel  Ward  goes  the 
round  of  the  sentinels  to  see  that  they  are  alert  on 
their  posts.  It  is  after  midnight  when  he  returns. 
The  temporary  mess-rooin  has  been  turned  into  a 
sleeping  apartment  by  the  addition  of  a  few  armfuls 
of  fragrant  ferns,  on  which  the  stalwart  forms  of  half 
a  dozen  officers  are  now  stretched  in  heavy  slumber. 

Phil  Brock  brings  his  master's  cloak.  "  Who's  the 
gintleman  ye  had  dining  wid  ye?  " 

"Don't  you  know  Mr.  Fernbrook,  Phil?" 

"  Indade  I  do  not,"  responds  the  old  man,  with  an 
obstinate  jerk  of  his  head.  "  Who's  to  tell  Mr.  Fern- 
brook  from  the  man  that's  been  taken  for  him  during 
the  last  few  years  an'  more,  when  even  his  ould  nurse 
didn't  know  the  difference  ?  Tell  me  that,  now." 

Ward  pauses  in  the  act  of  unbuckling  his  sword- 
belt. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  suspect  our  friend 
to  be  that  scoundrel  Mauprat,  the  convict !  " 

"  Why  not  ?  "  says  Brock,  coolly. 

"  Pooh !     You  old  fool !  you've  been  drinking." 

"  Oh,  thank  you.  If  I  have,  agra,  it's  only  taking 
pattern  after  me  betters,  I've  been,"  cries  Phil,  in  high 
dudgeon.  "  Maybe  if  you  had  been  less  occupied  wid 
the  punch,  an'  minding  your  duty,  you'd  have  axed 
yourself  the  question — 'What  the  devil's  this  man 


272        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

doom'  here,  I  wonder  ? '  as  I  did  when  I  saw  him  enter 
the  tent.  Mark  that ! " 

One  of  the  prostrate  officers  rose  into  a  sitting  pos- 
ture. "  By  Jove,  Colonel,  there  may  be  something  in 
what  the  old  chap  says,"  he  cried. 

"Thrue  for  ye,  Captain  Harrington.  Musha,  I'm 
glad  to  meet  one  man  with  sense  among  ye." 

"  You  remember,  this  fellow  Mauprat  and  his 
confederates  are  known  to  be  in  the  camp  of  the 
Rebels,"  continues  Captain  Harrington,  not  heeding 
Phil's  remark.  "  What  more  probable  than  that  this 
adventurer,  with  his  wonderful  resemblance  to  young 
Fernbrook,  should  seek  to  personate  him,  even  here  ?  " 

"  With  what  object,  Captain  ?  " 

"  If  your  man's  supposition  be  correct,  we  shall  not 
have  far  to  look  for  an  object,"  answers  Harrington, 
rising  to  his  feet.  "  It  strikes  me  our  guest  was 
very  particular  in  his  inquiries  about  matters  which  I 
don't  think  would  have  troubled  a  non-military  man 
like  Fernbrook,  though  I  confess  it  did  not  strike  me 
at  the  time.  We  have  a  convoy  of  ammunition — fifty 
thousand  rounds — for  our  comrades  at  Tonga's  Peak. 
Report  says  that  Titori  is  short  of  this  chief  staple  of 
war,  and  is  offering  for  lead  its  own  weight  in  gold 
coin.  I  am  not  an  alarmist,  my  dear  fellow,  but  to  be 
forewarned  is  to  be  forearmed." 

"  Your  zeal  is  commendable,  Harrington ;  but  I  cer- 
tainly cannot  have  been  deceived  in  the  face  of  an  old 
friend  whom  I  have  known  from  boyhood,"  says  the 
Colonel,  smiling. 

"  Hilton  Fernbrook  and  myself  were  at  St.  John's 
College  together  for  three  years,"  says  the  Captain. 
"  Last  Christmas  I  went  to  the  Barrier  to  visit  my 
friend,  and  remained  in  the  house  for  a  month  without 


WARD'S  RIFLES.  273 

discovering  the  difference  between  my  college  chum 
and  a  rascally  convict." 

The  Colonel  laughs.  "  Egad,  you  were  not  singular 
in  that  respect,  ray  dear  fellow.  After  all,  I  may 
have  been  mistaken.  We  will  give  Victor  Mauprat 
the  benefit  of  the  doubt.  Brock,  go  quietly  and  ask 
Lieutenant  Howard  to  look  in  here  for  a  few  minutes." 

Exit  Phil,  with  a  look  of  satisfaction. 

"  It  will  be  as  well  to  double  the  sentries,  and  place 
them  farther  down  the  ridge,"  continues  the  Colonel, 
after  a  moment's  reflection.  "Will  you  be  good 
enough  to  see  it  done,  Harrington?" 

In  half  an  hour  the  "  Rifles  "  are  standing  to  their 
arms  in  rear  of  the  little  column  of  men-of-war's  men, 
drawn  up  a  little  to  the  left  of  the  two  guns,  which  have 
been  placed  in  a  favorable  position  under  the  com- 
mand of  Lieutenant  Howard.  Not  a  few  of  the  men 
wonder  what  is  the  matter.  They  converse  in  low 
tones,  speculating  upon  a  brush  with  the  enemy. 
Some  have  it  that  the  Rebels  are  marching  in  force 
to  intercept  them,  and  cut  them  off  from  joining 
Colonel  Chesterton.  Others  whisper  that  Maoris  never 
fight  in  the  darkness,  and  the  standing  to  arms  is  only 
a  ruse  to  get  them  accustomed  to  their  work  in  the 
field. 

The  hours  go  slowly,  expectantly  by.  One — two — 
three  o'clock  !  Hark !  Crack !  crack !  boom  the  rifles 
of  outlying  sentries.  Not  in  one  spot  alone  are  seen 
the  sudden  flashes  of  the  musketry,  but  in  a  circle  of 
living  fire  round  the  base  of  the  ridge. 

Colonel  Ward  has  just  time  to  form  his  men  into 

quarter-distance     column    of    companies,    when    the 

scouts  fall  hurriedly  back  upon  the  main  body.     Some 

of  them  never  get  back  at  all,  for  in  the  dim  light,  a 

18 


274        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

broad  dark  line  is  seen  to  advance  and  swallow  them  up, 
nor  pause  until  the  hill-top  is  gained  ;  then  with  a 
wild,  unearthly  yell,  which  makes  a  reverberating 
echo  along  the  adjacent  hills,  the  head  of  the  advanc- 
ing column  rushes  upon  certain  destruction.  With 
admirable  coolness  the  gunners  wait  their  opportunity, 
then  the  murderous  missiles  belch  forth  and  plough  a 
wide  lane  down  the  living  wall.  Spite  of  guns,  spite 
of  more  than  one  deadly  volley,  the  intrepid  warriors 
gain  the  ridge,  and  hold  it.  Nothing  can  stem  their 
determined,  headlong  rush. 

"Death  to  the  Pakeha!"  is  heard  above  the  din, 
rolling  and  swelling  like  nothing  else  on  this  fair 
earth,  save  the  noise  that  men  make  when  the  fero- 
cious and  brute  part  of  them  is  let  loose  and  rampant 
in  deadly  conflict. 

Te  Huri,  the  giant,  and  a  white  man  by  his  side, 
dressed  in  tight-fitting  coat  of  mica  flax,  lead  the  van, 
and  seem  to  bear  charmed  lives.  There  is  no  light 
for  manosuvres,  no  room  for  military  tactics.  It  is  a 
give-and-take  encounter  in  every  stage  of  its  dreadful 
progress;  Maori  arid  Pakeha  go  down  together  in 
death's  hug,  silently  and  without  a  groan. 

"Death  to  the  Pakeha!"  The  voice  of  the  huge 
Rebel  Leader  sounds  loud  and  clear  as  a  trumpet-blast, 
above  the  roar  of  voices.  He  and  his  companion  with 
the  flaxen  tamba  have  penetrated  into  the  solid  ranks 
of  the  volunteers,  and  rank  and  file  go  down  before 
their  meris  like  so  many  dried  reeds  beneath  a  mower's 
scythe. 

"  Death  to  the  Pakeha ! "  The  Maori  war-cry  is 
answered  by  cheer  after  cheer  from  bands  of  twenty 
and  less,  who  stand  shoulder  to  shoulder  and  fight 
with  desperate  courage  against  long  odds.  Colonel 


WARD'S  RIFLES.  275 

Ward  is  down,  his  body  pierced  with  more  than  one 
gaping  wound.  While  his  strength  lasts  his  voice  is 
heard  urging  the  "  Rifles  "  to  stand  fast  and  use  the 
bayonet.  The  order  is  needless.  The  bayonet  is  the 
only  weapon  that  can  be  brought  into  play  now,  for 
the  men  have  no  time  to  load.  Round  and  about  the 
guns  the  battle  seems  to  rage  fiercest.  The  dead  and 
wounded  are  literally  lying  here  in  a  heap,  forming  a 
rampart  round  the  remnant  of  gallant  tars,  who  stand 
to  be  slaughtered  at  their  posts  rather  than  retreat 
a  single  pace.  This  spot  forms  the  rallying-point  for 
the  hard-pressed  volunteers. 

The  superior  force  hurled  against  them  has  riven 
their  columns  into  shreds  and  patches,  but  the  first 
fierce  thunderous  onslaught  of  the  Maoris  past,  they 
reunite  again  and  form  square  with  the  small  battery 
in  the  centre.  Not  all  the  dash  and  daring  of  the 
warriors  can  break  the  ranks  of  the  hated  Pakehas. 
Again  and  again  the  Rebel  leaders  hurl  their  best  men 
against  it,  but  they  are  driven  back  with  ruthless 
butchery.  Long  before  daybreak  the  Rebel  host, 
beaten  and  discomfited,  are  in  full  retreat,  leaving  a 
spectacle  behind  them  that  is  appalling  to  the  eye  of  day. 

On  the  self-same  morning  that  witnessed  the  san- 
guinary battle  of  Te  Rauga,  Mrs.  Victorine  Gayland 
and  her  companion,  Te  Coro,  arrived  at  Wairoa.  The 
news  came  to  them,  as  it  came  to  others  on  that  fair 
morn — news  of  a  battle  won,  and  of  brave  men  bleed- 
ing to  death  for  want  of  succor  and  attendance.  And 
this  woman,  who  had  consecrated  herself  at  the  shrine 
of  Charity,  put  aside  self  and  began  her  labor  of  love. 
Every  available  resource  that  could  aid  her  was  at  once 
put  into  requisition.  The  wounded  were  conveyed 
into  Wairoa.  Medical  men  rode  post-haste  from 


276        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

Taurauga.  Tents,  bedding,  and  all  the  requirements 
needed  followed  them  ;  in  short,  before  midnight  the 
little  township  had  been  transformed  into  a  temporary 
hospital. 

In  the  strangest  of  all  strange  positions  were  found 
the  wounded  and  the  dead  at  Te  Rauga.  Phil  Brock, 
with  both  legs  broken,  lay  near  the  senseless  and  bloody 
form  of  his  master ;  both  were  ringed  in  by  the  dusky 
bodies  of  dead  warriors.  When  they  lifted  the  old 
Irishman,  to  bear  him  away,  he  thrust  them  back  with 
a  startled  cry : 

"  Amos,  darlint,  my  dear,  tinder-hearted  master ! 
where  are  ye,  acushla?  It's  ould  Phil  that's  calling 
ye !  Spake  to  me !  spake  to  me !  Och  hone !  Dead  ! 
dead ! " 

But  Amos  Ward  was  not  dead. 


"  Round  and  about  the  guns  the  battle  seems  to  rage 
fiercest." 

—Page  273. 


NE  PLUS  ULTRA.  277 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

NE  PLUS   ULTBA. 

IT  was  just  three  weeks  after  the  affray  at  Te  Rauga 
that  Peter  Dusk  found  his  way  into  the  camp  of  the 
Rebels  at  Judea.  Smarting  under  their  recent  defeat 
at  the  Block  Pah,  the  Maoris  would  have  made  short 
work  of  their  prisoner,  had  it  not  been  for  the  fact 
that  Titori  had  handed  him  over  to  his  Pakeha  allies. 
True  to  his  purpose,  Colonel  de  Roal  had  the  spy  de- 
tective brought  before  him  again  on  the  evening  of  the 
day  of  his  capture.  Beside  the  Colonel  sat  the  Ferret, 
or  Joe  Sharpe.  The  former  waved  his  arm,  a  signal 
for  the  Maori  guard  to  depart,  and  the  three  men  were 
left  together. 

We  have  before  stated  that  the  detective  was  a  keen 
fellow,  with  a  nerve  of  iron,  else  it  is  not  probable  he 
would  have  risked  his  life  by  venturing  into  the  strong- 
hold of  the  Maori  to  find  his  man.  Looking  at  the  pair 
before  him,  Dusk  saw  that  his  existence  hung  upon  a 
mere  thread  ;  but  his  courage  rose  with  the  occasion, 
arid  he  decided  on  a  bold  move,  if  necessary. 

De  Roal  said :  "  I  suppose  you  think  it  odd  to  find 
some  of  your  countrymen  here  in  the  Rebel  camp  ?  " 

"  No ;  perhaps  you  are,  like  myself,  better  here  than 
elsewhere." 

De  Roal  smiled.     "  Have  you  any  idea  who  we  are  ? 

"  Yes,"  replied  Dusk,  frankly.    "  The  report  is  that 


278        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

four  prisoners  broke  out  of  the  stockade  lately,  and 
joined  the  Rebels  under  Titori. 

"  Is  that  the  report  ?  " 

«  It  is." 

"  And  is  it  believed  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Do  me  the  favor  to  correct  such  a  canard,  if  you 
ever  get  back  to  camp  with  Colonel  Chesterton," 
answered  the  Colonel,  gravely.  "Now,  your  name, 
friend  ?  I  have  forgotten  it." 

"Peter  Dusk." 

There  was  a  sudden  flash  of  intelligence  in  the  eyes 
of  the  Ferret,  who  bent  forward  and  briefly  whispered 
to  his  companion.  The  Colonel  played  with  the  band- 
age round  his  wounded  limb  for  a  moment.  "  How 
long  have  you  been  in  the  volunteers,  Mr.  Dusk  ?  "  he 
said. 

"  Some  considerable  time." 

"  Where  were  you  posted  when  you  had  the  misfor- 
tune to  fall  asleep  ?  " 

"  What  does  it  matter?  I  am  here.  No  man  in  his 
senses  would  take  the  step  I  have  unless  he  had  some 
powerful  motive." 

"  Just  so,"  replied  De  Roal,  radiant ;  "  it  is  your 
motive  I  want  to  fathom,  Mr.  Dusk." 

"  To  escape  fifty  lashes,  or,  perhaps,  worse  punish- 
ment, is  a  sufficient  motive,  sir,  I  think." 

Again  the  Ferret  whispered  to  his  colleague,  who 
nodded  and  smiled.  "  Ah !  You  had  no  other  motive 
in  visiting  Judea?" 

Dusk  hesitated,  then  stammered :  "  Perhaps  I 
had." 

The  Colonel  looked  surprised,  but  said  mildly, "  Come, 
Mr.  Dusk,  speak  out.  The  Pakehas  here  will  help  you, 


NE  PLUS  ULTRA.  279 

if  possible.  It  is  curious  to  us  that  you  did  not  stray 
into  the  pah  by  chance.  What  is  the  purport  of  your 
visit  ?  allow  me  to  repeat." 

The  detective  hesitated  again,  with  admirable  acting  : 
"  Are  we  quite  alone  here  ?  " 

"  Quite,  and  no  one  can  overhear  what  is  said." 

"  Hark  ye,  then !  I  am  not  a  volunteer.  I  stole  this 
uniform  from  a  dead  man  outside  the  pah." 

"  Who  are  you,  then  ?"  said  Sharpe,  with  a  snarl  in 
his  voice  like  that  of  a  terrier  ere  he  bites. 

"A  jail-bird.     Nothing  less." 

"Oh!  One  of  the  escapees  from  the  stockade?" 
suggested  the  Colonel. 

"  Exactly ;  but  you  will  not  let  that  prejudice  you  ?  " 
returned  Dusk,  quickly. 

"  Nay ;  such  a  recommendation  would  rather  weigh 
in  your  favor,"  answered  De  Roal,  with  a  sweet  laugh. 
"  Tell  me,  what  was  your  crime,  friend  ?  " 

"  Burglary.     Robbing  a  bank." 

"  And  you  were  caught  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  and  three  companions  got  clear  away  with  a 
sum  of  three  thousand  pounds,  and  a  bag  of  gold-dust 
worth  thrice  that  sum,  which  we  hid,"  said  Dusk, 
again  hesitating,  and  watching  the  faces  of  his  ex- 
aminers. 

"  Humph !     Go  on." 

"  Thirteen  thousand  pounds  was  a  big  haul,  and  the 
bank  made  desperate  efforts  to  regain  the  money.  I 
suspected  they  would ;  I  also  suspected  that  out  of 
four  men  one  would  probably  be  found  to  betray  his 
confederates.  This  law  is  as  true  as  the  needle  to  the 
pole,  if  you  test  it  carefully.  We  hid  the  booty  in  a 
cave  on  the  coast,  but  having  an  idea  that  the  adage 
of  '  honor  among  thieves '  was  not  to  be  taken  literally 


280        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

in  this  case,  I  found  another  hiding-place  for  the  money. 
Perhaps  it  was  well  I  took  the  precaution,  for  in  less 
than  twenty-four  hours  afterwards  three  of  us  were 
arrested  for  the  robbery." 

"  And  the  fourth  ?  " 

"  Turned  Queen's  evidence,  of  course,  received  a  par- 
don, and  was  sent  out  of  the  colony." 

"  Well,  friend,  what  about  the  spoil  ? "  said  the 
Colonel,  after  a  long  pause,  during  which  his  steely 
eyes  glittered  with  a  strange  light. 

Dusk  looked  cautiously  round.  "The  gold  lies  hid 
where  I  planted  it,"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone  that  rose  no 
higher  than  a  whisper.  "  It  was  the  all-absorbing  de- 
sire to  possess  myself  of  the  treasure  which  prompted 
me  to  risk  escape." 

"  Is  the  money  hid  hereabouts  ?  " 

"  Ay  ;  I  was  making  towards  the  spot  when  the 
Maoris  found  me." 

"  Ah,  I  see ! "  and  the  Colonel  stroked  his  mous- 
tache reflectively,  as  if  gauging  some  mental  problem. 
"  Of  course  you  have  a  proposal  to  make  ?  "«^H^ 

"  That  is  certainly  my  idea,"  answered  Dusk,  coolly ; 
"  but  would  it  not  be  better  to  make  the  proposition 
in  the  presence  of  your  companions  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  necessary.    Be  good  enough  to  proceed." 

"Thirteen  thousand  pounds,  I  repeat,  is  to  be  had 
within  a  mile  of  the  cliff  yonder  by  the  sea.  The 
spot  is  well  marked.  My  proposal  is  that  you  and 
your  companions  leave  this  place,  take  me  with  you, 
and  I  will  show  you  where  the  gold  is  hid." 

De  Roal  raised  his  eyes.  "  Anything  else  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  No  ;  save  that  we  share  and  share  alike,"  said 
Dusk. 


NE  PLUS  ULTRA.  281 

The  Ferret  bent  forward  and  whispered  to  the  Colo- 
nel again.  "  The  sum  you  name  is  no  doubt  consider- 
able ;  yet  it  would  not  give  much,  divided  into  fifty 
parts." 

"  Fifty !  "echoed  Dusk,  for  a  moment  taken  off  his 
guard.  "  I  understood  there  were  only  four  white  men 
with  Titori." 

Colonel  de  Roal  smiled.  "  My  friend,  you  are  a  very 
clever  fellow,  and  I  admire  your  address  and  courage 
very  much,"  said  he.  "  To  me  you  appear  no  mean 
student  of  human  nature,  but  you  forget  the  first  prin- 
ciple— nay,  I  may  say  the  ruling  law  of  creation, 
namely,  the  weaker  must  go  to  the  wall.  With  a  poor 
hand,  you  have  managed  to  play  an  excellent  game. 
Let  me  say  how  sorry  I  am  that  you  have  had  the  mis- 
fortune to  be  pitted  against  men  who  know  the  cards 
better  than  yourself,  mon  ami" 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  said  the  prisoner,  still  un- 
daunted. 

"  That  is  your  misfortune,"  answered  De  Roal,  with 
his  affable  smile.  "  I  had  a  friend  in  the  old  country 
who  was  once  troubled  with  a  fox.  Many  traps  were 
laid  for  friend  Reynard,  but  without  avail.  One  day 
my  friend  brained  a  rabbit  with  a  pair  of  tongs ;  into 
the  wound  he  poured  croton  oil,  and  then  hid  the  dead 
animal  within  the  hutch.  The  fox  came,  discovered 
his  booty,  and  sucked  the  wound.  Well,  next  day 
they  found  the  thief  by  the  bank  of  the  river — dead !  " 

"He  was  a  foolish  fox  to  be  caught  so  easily." 

"Just  so.  Now,  my  friend,  there  are  human  foxes 
who  are  to  be  caught  with  a  more  simple  drug  than 
croton  oil.  Let  me  tell  you  that  the  hide  of  a  fox  is 
too  short  to  cover  a  wolf.  Why  did  you  not  try  some 
other  disguise  ?  " 


282        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

"  Colonel  de  Roal !  " 

"  Ha !  You  know  my  name.  You,  the  thief,  who 
have  been  shut  up  in  jail  for  robbing  a  bank,"  cried  the 
Colonel,  quickly.  "  Egad,  sir,  it  is  not  very  flattering 
to  my  intelligence,  at  least,  to  find  that  you  went  no 
farther  than  the  rabbit  hutch,  expecting  to  find  the 
game  killed  ready  for  your  maw." 

"  Speak  plain,"  said  Dusk,  his  face  changing  sud- 
denly to  defiance. 

"  There  is  no  need  to  be  plain,  my  fine  fellow,"  con- 
tinued De  Roal,  in  a  soft  persuasive  voice.  "  Enough 
for  you  to  know  that  we  cannot  accept  your  story." 

«  Why  ?  " 

"  Because  it  is  not  true !  Peter  Dusk  from  Scotland 
Yard,  we  know  you." 

For  just  one  moment  there  is  a  gleam  in  the  pris- 
oner's eyes,  as  he  dived  down  his  hand  for  the  pistol 
secreted  in  his  pants.  It  is  but  momentary,  the 
thought  and  the  attempt  to  put  it  into  action.  "  I  am 
surprised,  gentlemen !  You  are  entirely  mistaken," 
he  said  coolly. 

Still  smiling,  the  Colonel  calls  the  guard,  who  enter 
and  surround  their  prisoner. 

"  This  man  is  a  spy,"  says  De  Roal  in  Maori,  and 
nodding  towards  Dusk — "  a  dangerous  spy,  who  has 
had  the  temerity  to  enter  Judea,  only  to  betray  the 
Maori  into  the  hands  of  Colonel  Chesterton's  warriors, 
What  shall  we  do  with  him  ?  " 

"  Kill  him,"  replied  Te  Hiki  in  English,  adding  some- 
thing also  which  we  dare  not  record  here. 

"You  "hear?"  cried  the  Colonel,  with  his  sinister 
smile.  "  These  fellows  will  execute  the  verdict  within 
the  hour.  Have  you  any  message  for  your  superiors 
in  London  ?  " 


NE  PLUS  ULTRA.  283 

Diplomacy  at  an  end,  the  man  rose  equal  to  the  oc- 
casion. "  Yes,"  he  cried  through  his  set  teeth ;  "  wire 

to  Inspector  H ,  and  say  I  have  found  Victor  Mau- 

prat  and  his  confederates,  and  that  I  mean  to  have 
them  in  Newgate  by  the  end  of  the  year,  or " 

"  Go  on,  mon  ami ;  why  do  you  pause  ?  "  said  De  Roal. 

"  Or  in  hell !  "  cried  Dusk,  with  a  low  bow. 

Joe  Sharpe  laughed  loudly,  and  rubbed  his  hands, 
together,  as  the  guard  led  out  their  captive.  The 
Maoris  did  not  return  to  the  place  whence  Dusk  had 
been  brought  for  the  interview.  They  crossed  the  pah 
at  the  point  where  the  road  opened  to  the  space  below, 
consisting  of  a  broad  plateau,  bare  of  trees,  and  sloping 
downward  to  a  deep  ravine,  then  ascending  again  to 
the  other  side,  to  the  high  cliffs  of  the  coast  wall. 

Outside  the  works  of  the  pah,  the  warrior  in  charge 
of  the  escort  halted  his  men,  six  in  number,  and  spoke 
a  few  words  to  them,  after  which  they  conducted  their 
prisoner  down  the  hill  towards  the  ravine.  Peter  Dusk 
understood  what  was  in  store  for  him,  though  he  did 
not  comprehend  one  word  of  what  had  been  uttered. 
Looking  round  him  in  sheer  desperation  for  some  way 
of  escape,  his  quick  eye  noted  a  party  coming  up  the 
hill  towards  them.  There  were  five  persons,  three 
Maoris  armed  with  rifles,  the  Chief  Titori  leading 
a  Maori  girl,  attired  in  a  dark  robe  of  mica  flax, 
fastened  at  the  waist  with  a  silk  sash.  On  her 
head  was  a  sealskin  cap  ornamented  with  a  single 
toho  feather. 

The    parties    met,    and    halted     simultaneously. 
"  Whither  go  ye  with  the  Pakeha  ?  "  said  Titori. 

"  He  is  a  spy.  The  white  wolf,  De  Roal,  has  com- 
manded that  he  die  the  death." 

Bah !    Why  do  not  the  Pakehas  punish  this  haJco 


284        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

themselves?"  said  the  chief ,  with  a  frown.  "Take  him 
hence ;  the  sight  is  hateful  to  me." 

The  escort  were  about  to  move  on,  when  the  Maori 
girl,  who  had  been  looking  keenly  at  the  captive,  turned 
to  Titori  and  uttered  a  few  words  in  a  low  tone.  The 
Chief  smiled,  and  held  up  his  hand.  "  Te  Coro  wishes 
to  speak  with  the  Pakeha,"  he  said  to  the  warrior  in 
charge.  Then  turning  to  the  daughter  of  Te  Papa,  for 
it  was  none  other,  he  added  with  a  graceful  bend  of  his 
stately  head,  "  Titori  has  no  voice  here  when  Te  Coro 
speaks.  The  Maoris  are  Te  Papa's  children." 

Waving  an  acknowledgment  of  the  compliment  with 
the  grace  of  an  empress,  Te  Coro  advanced  to  the 
captive.  "  Why  are  you  here  ?  "  she  asked  in  English. 

"  Trying  to  do  my  duty  ! "  replied  Dusk,  in  surprise. 

"What  duty  of  yours  can  lie  here,  in  the  Maori 
camp  ?  You  are  a  soldier  by  your  uniform,  but  these 
men  say  you  are  a  spy." 

"  It  is  not  true." 

"Your  name,  sir?" 

"  Peter  Dusk." 

Te  Core's  eyes  sparkled.  "  You  are  the  detective  in 
search  of  Victor  Mauprat  and  his  companions  ?  " 

Dusk  started,  and  became  suspicious  instantly.  "Is 
it  necessary  that  I  should  answer  that  question,  lady  ?" 

"  No,  if  you  do  not  think  it  a  fair  one,"  she  replied. 
"  Your  present  position  is  not  enviable ;  perhaps  I  may 
help  you  to  liberty.  Are  you  the  man  who  accompanied 
Mr.  Hilton  Fernbrook  from  England  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  came  here  to  arrest  Victor  Mauprat." 

"  Thank  you  !  "  and  she  turned  to  the  chief :  "  Titori, 
I  have  to  crave  the  life  of  this  Pakeha." 

"  The  haJco  is  yours,"  answered  the  Rebel  leader,  with 
another  stately  bend  towards  her.  "  Tiki,  take  back  the 


NE  PLUS  ULTRA.  285 

warriors.  The  Pakeha  is  free  to  depart.  I  have 
spoken." 

There  was  no  more  to  be  said  after  the  last  brief 
sentence.  Once  it  is  uttered  by  any  one  of  the  race,  it  is 
as  unalterable  as  the  laws  of  the  Medes  and  Persians. 
The  Maori  guard  wheeled  about  and  marched  back 
without  their  captive,  while  Te  Coro  whispered  hur- 
riedly "  Go  hence  quickly ;  this  Maori,"  beckoning  to 
Bosco,  "  will  guide  you  to  my  hotel  by  the  lake.  Await 
my  coming;  I  have  instructions  from  Fernbrook  for 
you.  Away ! "  She  turned  and  said  a  few  words  to 
her  faithful  attendant,  who  grunted  an  assent,  slung 
his  weapon  over  his  shoulder,  and  nodded  to  Dusk  to 
follow  him,  and  the  pair  went  down  the  declivity,  and 
were  soon  lost  to  view. 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  peculiarities  of  the 
daughter  of  Te  Papa,  she  certainly  possessed  a  mighty 
talisman  over  the  leaders  of  that  portion  of  her  country- 
men who  had  taken  up  arms  against  the  Government. 
Deference,  and  that  tacit  submission  indicating  respect, 
awaited  her  on  all  sides  from  the  chiefs  of  the  rebellion, 
who  gathered  in  a  group  on  the  outer  walls  of  the  pah 
to  welcome  her.  Te  Coro,  although  reared  and  educated 
amongst  the  Pakehas,  was  still  a  Maori  at  heart,  with 
all  a  Maori's  subtlety,  and  the  desire  for  revenge  strong 
within  her.  She  had  undertaken  the  journey  to  Titori 
with  one  fixed  purpose — one  object,  to  inflict  personal 
chastisement  upon  the  man  who  had  won  her  regard 
under  false  pretences.  Veiling  the  true  purport  of  her 
errand,  she  spoke  of  the  adventurers  in  terms  of  un- 
mitigated contempt.  They  were  base,  deceitful,  and 
utterly  unworthy  to  consort  with  warriors  who  held 
truth  and  honor  as  the  first  and  dearest  principles  of 
their  manhood.  These  Pakehas  were  wicked  slaves. 


286        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

By  pretence,  and  wile,  and  fraud,  they  had  usurped  the 
places  of  honorable  men.  They  were  criminals  hiding 
from  justice,  hiding  here  under  the  protection  of  men 
who  were  fighting  for  some  of  the  dearest  principles 
of  the  Maori  race ;  in  short,  it  was  a  foul  blot  upon  the 
Maori  cause  that  it  should  count  such  monsters  in  its 
ranks,  and  they  should  be  thrust  forth  without  an  hour's 
delay. 

A  powerful  advocate  this — with  her  changing  mobile 
face,  flashing  eyes,  and  rich,  full  voice,  that  had  in  its 
tone  the  ring  of  conviction.  The  Chieftains  held  brief 
council  together.  Then  Titori  said:  "Daughter  of 
Te  Papa,  these  men  came  to  us  with  your  recommen- 
dation. On  the  faith  of  it,  they  became  our  brothers. 
You  say  they  are  liars.  So  be  it.  To-morrow  they 
shall  depart  from  amongst  us.  Te  awn  ti  Jciti.  We 
have  spoken." 

The  sun  had  not  dipped  behind  Tonga's  Peak  when 
Te  Coro,  satisfied  with  her  brief  visit,  left  the  pah  in 
company  with  her  two  attendants.  Beyond  the  cliff 
the  road  wound  zigzag  fashion  into  the  valley  of  the 
Wairoa,  where  could  be  seen  a  solitary  hotel,  surrounded 
by  one  or  two  cottages,  and  a  few  dilapidated  whares 
of  the  friendly  natives. 

On  a  jutting  ledge  of  rock  overhanging  the  narrow 
road  sat  a  man,  who  started  to  his  feet  on  the  approach 
of  Te  Coro.  The  girl  cast  a  swift  glance  upward,  then 
stopped. 

Pausing  an  instant,  as  if  irresolute,  the  man  came 
forward  and  raised  his  hat. 

"  Te  Coro ! "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Hilton  Fernbrook !  "  she  rejoined,  with  a  smile, 
though  there  was  a  strange  gleam  in  her  eyes  the  while. 
"  Why,  who  would  have  thought  of  meeting  you  in  this 


NE  PLUS  ULTRA.  287 

wild  part  of  the  country  ?  When  did  you  leave  the 
Barrier  Rock?" 

"  Oh,  some  days  ago,"  he  responded  lightly.  "  My  old 
friend  Ward  was  wounded  badly  at  Te  Rauga,  and  I 
took  a  flying  visit,  as  the  saying  goes,  to  see  him.  Poor 
fellow !  he  is  in  a  very  critical  state  indeed." 

Te  Coro  played  with  the  tassel  of  her  cloak,  but  did 
not  look  at  him.  "  I  am  truly  sorry  to  hear  it,"  she 
said.  "  Are  you  staying  at  the  hotel  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  That  will  be  pleasant,"  still  toying  with  the  tassel. 
"  Bosco  has  gone  forward  to  prepare  accommodation 
for  me.  But,  good  Heavens !  you  have  been  hurt  ?  " 
she  added,  looking  him  full  in  the  face. 

He  laughed.  "It  is  nothing,  a  mere  scratch,"  he 
answered  coolly.  "I  was  fool  enough  to  attempt  to 
scale  the  north  side  of  the  Mount,  and  got  a  fall  for 
my  pains." 

Somehow  the  conversation  became  strained  and 
labored  between  them,  then  died  out  altogether,  though 
Te  Coro  made  several  spasmodic  attempts  to  keep  it 
at  an  even  flow.  When  they  reached  the  hotel  it  was 
quite  dark,  but  Bosco  was  ready  to  usher  his  mistress 
into  a  well-lighted  apartment,  which  looked  cosy  and 
inviting  after  the  fatiguing  walk  to  Judea. 

"When  can  we  have  dinner,  Bosco?"  he  asked, 
following  Te  Coro  into  the  apartment. 

The  Maori  turned  and  looked  at  the  speaker  for  the 
space  of  a  minute,  with  his  mouth  agape.  Catching  a 
sign  from  the  Maori  girl,  however,  he  went  out  with- 
out replying  to  the  question. 

"  Dinner  will  not  be  ready  for  some  time  yet,"  said 
Te  Coro.  "In  the  mean  while  I  have  something  I 
want  to  say  to  you,  Mr.  Fernbrook." 


288        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

The  emphasis  was  so  marked,  that  he  turned  to  look 
at  her.  She  had  cast  aside  her  hat  and  tamba,  and 
now  stood  confronting  him,  the  smile  gone  from  her 
face. 

He  drew  a  long,  full  breath,  as  his  eyes  met  hers, 
like  some  strong  diver  who  is  about  to  plunge  into 
unfathomable  depths. 

"Victor  Mauprat,  thief  and  convict,  I  have  come 
here  to  kill  you,"  she  continued  slowly,  her  face  chang- 
ing its  beauty  to  passion  and  vindictive  repulsion.  Save 
for  the  mouth  and  the  eyes  there  was  no  outward  token 
of  disturbance  in  the  man.  He  stood  looking  at  her, 
not  defiantly,  nor  yet  with  the  smallest  show  of  appre- 
hension ;  but  with  eyes  that  were  lit  up  with  a  strange, 
lurid  light  of  intense  pride  and  love. 

"  Why  would  you  kill  me  ?  "  he  said  at  length,  look- 
ing down  on  her  determined  face.  "  Jf,  as  you  assert, 
I  am  a  convict,  why  should  the  daughter  of  Te  Papa 
trouble  herself  ?  There  is  an  executioner  appointed  by 
law  to  punish  those  who  break  the  law." 

Te  Coro  did  not  reply  immediately.  Beneath  his 
ardent  look  she  felt  the  throbbing  of  her  heart  increase, 
and  the  warm  blood  mounting  to  her  neck  and  brow. 
The  resolve  to  kill  him  was  not  one  jot  less  in  her 
desire,  yet  the  power  and  the  will  was  not  sufficiently 
strong  to  do  it  then  and  there.  "  The  law  cannot  reach 
every  vile  act  and  deed,"  she  answered,  still  toying 
with  her  weapon,  and  held  by  the  magnetic  light  in 
his  eyes.  "  The  law  does  not  punish  the  wretch  who 
may  take  it  into  his  head  to  wreck  the  life  of  a  virtuous 
woman.  Nay,  a  man  may  murder  fifty  innocent,  de- 
fenceless women,  body  and  soul,  and  the  law  has  no 
power  to  punish  him  for  the  crime." 

M  Whom  have  I  wronged,  Te  Coro  ?  " 


NE  PLUS  ULTRA.  289 

"Myself,  Victor  Mauprat,"  she  replied,  flashing  upon 
him  the  full  indignation  of  her  look.  "  I — the  Maori 
— the  last  of  Te  Papa's  mighty  race,  confess  with 
abject  shame  that  a  base  slave  from  the  hulks  once 
entrapped  my  love.  Ah !  you  smile,  but  I  swear  by 
Heaven  the  wretch  shall  not  go  hence  save  to  his 
doom." 

"TeCoro " 

"  Silence ! "  she  muttered,  through  her  white  set  teeth. 
"  You  think  it  was  the  miserable  convict  who  stole  my 
affection?  Not  so,  Victor  Mauprat.  Remember  the 
ass  who  donned  the  hide  of  the  lion.  The  convict 
slave  personated  honesty,  courage,  manliness.  In  the 
likeness  and  image  of  one  who  has  been  all  in  all  to  me 
— father,  brother,  and  friend — my  heart  went  out  to  the 
outward  form  and  counterpart  of  him,  and  not  to  the 
base  copy  which  lay  hid  behind  the  similitude." 

At  that  moment  there  came  a  low  rumbling  noise 
like  distant  thunder.  It  shook  the  window-frames 
with  a  shivering  vibrating  motion,  but  it  passed  un- 
heeded by  Te  Coro  and  her  companion. 

"I  am  Victor  Mauprat,  jail-bird,  felon — what  y.^. 
will,"  he  said,  standing  before  her,  and  folding  his 
arms  over  his  broad  chest ;  "  I  am  a  man  that  cannot 
glory  in  the  dark  fate  which  has  fallen  to  my  lot,  but 
I  would  rather  be  simply  what  you  say  of  me — convict, 
slave,  prison  drudge — and  have  your  love,  Te  Coro, 
than  be  in  reality  that  Hilton  Fernbrook  whom  I  have 
impersonated.  Ay,  shoot  me  down,  if  it  so  please  you. 
See,  I  am  ready,"  he  cried,  baring  his  breast.  "  I  love 
you,  Te  Coro !  I  love  you  more  ardently,  more  pas- 
sionately than  you  can  ever  dream.  Why  do  you 
pause  ?  Am  I  so  vile,  indeed,  that  the  death  of  a  dog 
is  not  good  enough  for  me  ?  You  have  everything  in 


290        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

your  favor  to  satisfy  the  revenge  you  seek  for  my 
presumptuous  iniquity.  Come,  I  will  not  shirk  the 
penalty." 

Once  again  there  comes  that  dull,  heavy  sound  on 
the  quiet  stillness ;  this  time  causing  the  building  to 
quiver  with  a  tremulous  motion.  A  look  of  astonish- 
ment comes  over  the  stern  face  of  the  Maori  maiden, 
and  softens  the  hard  lines  on  it.  "  There  will  be  a 
storm,"  she  mutters. 

"  So  much  the  better,"  echoes  Victor  Mauprat,  in  the 
same  low  tone.  "  Storm  or  sunshine  can  matter  little 
to  such  a  soulless  wretch  as  I  am."  Then  there  came 
a  groan  of  pain  or  anguish  from  the  man,  which  he 
tried  in  vain  to  suppress. 

Te  Coro  looked  at  him  for  a  moment.  "  Ah,  you 
are  a  coward,  after  all !  "  she  said  with  scornful 
emphasis. 

"  Your  Maori  instinct  for  revenge  has  blinded  your 
judgment,"  he  replied,  with  a  scarlet  spot  on  his  cheeks. 
•'  Do  not  you  see  that  I  could  defeat  your  cherished 
project  by  a  blow  of  my  fist  ?  We  are  alone  here.  If  it 
pleased  me,  I  could  squeeze  out  your  fresh  young  life 
ere  you  could  utter  a  cry  for  help." 

"  That  is  the  threat  of  a  boaster  and  a  poltroon. 
You  are  afraid ! " 

"  No ;  kill  me  if  you  will,  Te  Coro,  but  do  not  taunt 
me!" 

"  Or  you  will  kill  me ! "  said  the  girl,  drawing  back 
and  presenting  her  revolver  at  his  breast. 

Victor  Mauprat  gazed  at  her  steadfastly  and  with 
unwinking  eyes.  "Why  do  you  not  fire?"  he  said 
presently. 

"  Because  my  Maori  instinct  prefers  to  play  with 
you  as  a  cat  plays  with  a  mouse,  though  the  saying  is 


NE  PLUS  ULTRA.  291 

not  applicable  in  this  case.  Tell  me  how  you  became 
a  criminal." 

His  face  wore  a  troubled  expression  at  the  change 
in  her — a  change  which  passed  suddenly  from  fierce 
vindictive  retribution  to  cool  and  biting  irony.  Seating 
himself  with  a  weary  sigh,  he  did  not  answer,  but 
rested  his  head  upon  his  hands,  and  let  her  have  full 
scope  for  her  sarcasm.  Strange  to  say,  her  taunts  did 
not  move  him  to  reply.  She  saw  all  the  random  shots 
which  struck  home  pictured  in  his  eyes,  and  in  the 
changing  color  of  his  face,  in  the  trembling  lips,  the 
nervous  clutch  of  his  fingers,  but  he  remained  mute. 
Not  by  so  much  as  the  lifting  of  his  head  in  sign  of 
refutation  did  he  deign  to  expose  what  was  passing 
within  him  at  her  cruel  and  merciless  tornado.  None 
but  a  Maori,  baffled  and  tormented  by  her  unconquer- 
able love  for  a  man  whom  she  deemed  a  villain  and  a 
slave,  would  have  so  exhibited  the  worst  attributes  of 
her  nature.  Under  these  conditions  an  Englishwoman 
would  have  let  the  man  go ;  her  task,  to  forget  him 
as  soon  as  possible.  A  Frenchwoman  would  have 
killed  him  on  the  spot  and  without  a  word,  and  then 
have  cried  for  him  afterwards.  With  Te  Coro,  this 
code  of  procedure  became  reversed.  Her  companion's 
silence,  instead  of  exasperating  her,  had  the  opposite 
effect.  Her  voice  lost  its  stinging  tone,  nay,  grew 
even  persuasive,  as  woman-like  she  came  back  to  the 
point  from  which  she  started. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  why  they  imprisoned  you  ?  Was 
it  for  murder  ?  " 

He  rose  up  and  approached  where  she  stood.  The 
girl  did  not  move,  but  looked  defiantly  at  him  the  while, 
as  his  tall  form  towered  above  her. 

"  Did  I  commit  murder  ?  "  he  echoed,  with  flashing 


292        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

eyes.  "Yes — the  world  called  it  murder.  But  the 
world  lied,  as  it  has  often  lied  since  the  beginning. 
The  man  called  me  a  swindler  and  a  thief,  and  I  killed 
him." 

"  Murdered  him,  say." 

"  No,  it  was  a  fair  duel  with  small-swords,"  he  re- 
butted, straightening  himself  with  something  like  re- 
sentment at  her  insinuation.  "•  I,  a  poor  devil  with 
just  one  sovereign  in  my  purse,  tried  my  fortune  at  a 
gambling  den,  ostensibly  a  club.  My  mother  lay  ill  in 
Dijon  in  France.  My  last  gold  coin  was  not  sufficient 
to  take  me  to  her  ;  so  I  sat  down  and  played.  Fortune 
smiled — and  I  won  a  thousand  pounds  from  one  per- 
son. My  opponent  was  an  officer  of  Hussars,  a  man  of 
rank  and  fashion,  with  wealthy  friends.  He  lost  his 
temper  with  his  money — said  I  was  a  cheat  and  a  thief, 
and  so  far  forgot  himself  as  to  give  me  a  blow.  I  do  not 
know  what  was  said,  or  who  took  sides  in  the  quarrel. 
There  were  not  many  present,  but  they  were  his 
friends,  as  it  proved — save  one  man,  Colonel  de  lloal, 
who  vouched  for  my  straightforward  play,  and  urged 
with  such  persistency  my  claim  to  the  satisfaction  of  a 
gentleman,  that  Captain  Yipont  consented  to  meet  me 
then  and  there.  It  was  break  of  day  when  we  ad- 
journed to  a  remote  patch  of  spare  ground  in  rear  of 
the  club.  Snow  lay  on  the  ground,  and  there  was  a 
sharp  frost  which  made  the  ground  slippery  beneath 
our  feet.  My  antagonist  had  the  choice  of  weapons, 
and  selected  the  rapier,  several  pairs  of  which  were 
procured  and  brought  to  the  ground. 

"It  seemed  like  a  dream  to  me  from  the  moment  I 
received  the  blow  until  I  found  myself  face  to  face  with 
my  foe.  Eager,  and  burning  with  a  feverish  desire  to 
punish  the  insult,  I  still  held  myself  under  perfect  con- 


NE  PLUS  ULTRA.  293 

trol.  "  Take  care,  my  lad ;  this  man  is  one  of  the  fin- 
est swordsmen  in  England,"  whispered  De  Roal  in  my 
ear.  "  Keep  your  guard  well  up,  and  lunge  straight. 
He  means  mischief." 

"  The  next  moment  we  crossed  swords.  There  was 
no  need  for  the  Colonel's  caution.  In  a  brief  space  I 
discerned  that  Captain  Vipont  was  fully  master  of  his 
weapon,  and  that  it  would  be  well  with  me  if  I  held 
my  own.  Nevertheless,  confidence  was  mine  ;  my  skill 
was  of  no  mean  order.  I  had  a  wrist  of  steel,  was  in 
full  practice,  and  felt  as  agile  as  an  untamed  panther. 
Here  and  there,  with  lightning  strokes  and  passes,  our 
pliant  blades  crossed,  and  writhed,  and  interlocked, 
like  fiery  serpents.  My  opponent's  rush  was  both  swift 
and  terrific,  but  I  met  it  coolly,  and  allowed  him  to  ex- 
pend his  strength  upon  my  foil.  Once  only  he  opened 
his  guard  to  me — then,  rapid  as  the  swoop  of  a  hawk,  I 
sent  my  rapier  into  his  arm  from  wrist  to  elbow.  The 
seconds  came  between  us,  but  he  thrust  them  back  with 
an  oath.  "  Bind  up  the  scratch,"  he  said.  "  Now  I  will 
kill  this  presumptuous  fool.' 

"I  saw  he  meant  to  keep  his  word.  In  vain  Colonel 
de  Roal  interposed ;  in  vain  Captain  Vipont's  friends 
pleaded  that  honor  was  satisfied.  "When  he  confronted 
me  again  his  face  was  livid  with  pain ;  but  he  fenced 
more  warily  than  heretofore,  and  with  greater  judg- 
ment ;  though  I  soon  discovered  that  his  wound  placed 
him  entirely  at  my  mercy.  Perhaps  it  would  have  been 
well  for  me  had  I  pointed  this  out  to  him,  and  refused 
to  continue  the  combat ;  but  I  was  smarting  under  his 
taunts,  and  the  jeers  of  his  companions,  and  I  went  on, 
thinking  at  most  to  disable  him.  Alas !  what  blind 
fools  we  are !  Even  while  the  thought  was  in  my 
mind,  my  opponent  slipped,  lunged  forward  upon  my 


294        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

weapon,  and  rolled  over  a  corpse  at  my  feet  the  next 
moment." 

A  dull,  booming  sound,  as  if  the  thunder  was  com- 
ing nearer,  came  now  a  third  time  upon  the  ears  of  Te 
Coro  and  Victor  Mauprat,  and  while  they  stood,  ex- 
pectantly listening,  there  followed  a  rushing,  rumbling 
noise  beneath  their  feet,  which  made  the  building  reel 
to  its  foundation. 

Te  Coro  laid  aside  her  revolver,  and  locked  her 
shapely  hands  together.  "  You  hear  the  Fire  King,  Old 
Tarawera  ?  "  she  said  in  tones  that  contrasted  strange- 
ly with  her  former  manner.  "  The  Spirit  is  angry 
with  me,  maybe,  because  of  my  wicked  resolve  to  kill 
you.  Tell  your  story,  and  let  the  God  answer  with  his 
tongue  of  flaming  fire.  I  have  spoken." 

Not  so  much  as  by  the  quivering  of  an  eyelid  did  the 
Maori  withdraw  her  strained  look  from  his  face.  In 
every  line  of  her  own  beautiful  features  were  blended 
superstition  and  awe,  but  nothing  of  fear. 

Mauprat  knew  that  an  earthquake  had  rolled  beneath 
their  feet  and  had  passed  on.  To  his  companion,  how- 
ever, it  was  the  enraged  growl  of  the  triple  Fire-gods 
— Ruawahi,  Watanga,  and  Tarawera — Guardians  of 
the  Terraces,  who  had  made  the  solid  earth  tremble 
with  their  voices.  Spite  of  her  liberal  education,  the 
old  leaven  of  belief  in  the  supernatural  powers  of  these 
vast,  rugged  peaks,  that  were  eternally  heaving  and 
seething  with  wild  unrest,  still  clung  to  Te  Coro  with 
all-pervading  influence.  Old  Tarawera  himself  had 
spoken  out  in  reproach  at  the  crime  she  had  meditated 
against  the  man  before  her,  and  she  relented.  The 
black  eyes  lost  their  cruel  look,  and  changed  gradually 
to  soft  glances  of  sympathy  and  love. 

Oh,  heart  of  woman !  what  a  complex  fabric — be  it 


NE  PLUS  ULTRA.  295 

of  Maori  or  Pakeha.  A  man  may  live  a  thousand  years 
and  not  comprehend  the  simplest  boor.  Who,  then, 
shall  presume  to  gauge  the  capacity  and  depth  of  Nat- 
ure's greatest  mystery — woman  ? 

As  there  is  but  a  thin  veil  between  the  highest  in- 
tellectual genius  and  a  fool,  so  in  like  manner  is  it  an 
easy  transition  from  deepest  hate  to  fondest  love ;  in- 
deed, some  wise  men  have  considered  that  hate  is  but 
the  irrational  form  of  love — the  insane  state,  and  that 
people  must  love  before  they  can  hate. 

"  So,  it  was  a  fair  duel,  and  not  a  stab  in  the  dark  ?  " 
says  the  Maori,  in  that  changed  voice  of  hers — soft  now 
as  the  cooing  of  a  dove.  "  They  told  me  you  were  an 
assassin  and  a  thief." 

"  Fair  ?  "  echoes  the  other,  with  a  disdainful  wave 
of  his  arm,  that  had  more  in  it  than  the  most  eloquent 
refutation.  "  I  could  have  slain  the  man  twice  over 
had  I  been  one-tenth  as  bloodthirsty  as  he  proved 
himself  during  the  encounter.  Skilled  swordsman  as 
the  Captain  undoubtedly  was,  I  had  a  surer  eye,  and 
my  fence  had  been  perfected  by  the  first  master  in 
Europe.  Besides,  who  could  bear  a  blow  and  not  seek 
to  resent  it?  Had  I  been  a  man  of  the  world,  my 
course  would  have  been  to  remain  in  England,  and  de- 
mand an  inquiry  into  the  circumstances  of  the  unfor- 
tunate duel ;  but  I  fled,  or,  rather,  was  hurried  out  of 
the  country  by  the  man  who  had  been  my  friend." 

"  Colonel  deRoal?" 

"Ay,  he  took  me  to  Paris.  "Look  here,"  he  said, 
"you  have  slain  a  man  who  has  powerful  friends. 
They  will  run  you  to  earth  for  it,  though  it  was  no 
fault  of  yours.  What  do  you  intend  doing  ?  "  There 
was  nothing  to  be  done  but  hide  myself.  By  day  and 
night  I  lived  the  life  of  a  wild  beast,  being  hunted  from 


296        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

place  to  place  by  the  hounds  of  the  law.  At  last  I  was 
arrested,  tried,  and  sentenced  to  seven  years'  penal 
servitude.  In  less  than  a  year — thanks  to  the  aid  of 
De  Roal — I  was  enabled  to  escape  from  Portland  Prison, 
and  also  from  the  country.  The  Colonel  took  passage 
for  Australia,  and  I  went  with  him,  disguised  as  his 
servant.  It  was  during  the  voyage  that  he  unfolded 
his  project,  that  I  should  change  places  with  Hilton 
Fernbrook." 

Victor  Mauprat  paused,  for  at  that  moment  the 
room  in  which  they  stood  began  to  totter  and  shake 
like  a  ship  at  sea  when  a  wave  strikes  her.  Instinct- 
ively Te  Coro  started  forward  and  clung  to  him. 
"  Hark  again !  "  she  cries.  "  Rotorua  speaks  now,  and 
the  earth  trembles." 

"  It  is  nothing,"  he  says,  folding  his  arms  round 
her,  and  she  yields  to  his  embrace  unresistingly.  "  We 
will  go  hence,  you  and  I,  Te  Coro,  out  of  the  busy  track 
of  men.  In  some  remote  corner  of  the  earth,  Te  Coro 
the  Maori  and  Victor  Mauprat  can  live  unmolested  by 
the  mockeries  and  wiles  of  civilization.  We  can  create 
a  civilization  of  our  own  without  its  wickedness.  Ah  ! 
hear  Old  Rotorua  again — he  speaks  in  confirmation  of 
my  words.  Dearest  Te  Coro,  am  I  less  a  man  than  he 
whom  for  five  years  I  have  personated  ?  Am  I  less 
tall  or  fair  to  look  upon  ?  Is  not  my  courage  as  high, 
my  education  as  good,  and  my  love  as  strong  ?  Re- 
verse our  positions.  Place  Hilton  Fernbrook  within 
the  convict  chains  that  bound  Victor  Mauprat.  Tempt 
him  with  the  bait  of  freedom,  wealth,  position,  at  one 
fell  swoop,  and  place  the  means  of  attaining  these 
things  within  his  grasp.  Men  whose  lives  have  been 
one  smooth  round  of  pleasure  and  enjoyment  know 
nothing  of  the  storm-battle  waged  by  strong  men 


NE  PLUS  ULTRA.  297 

tempted.  If  I  have  sinned,  I  have  been  punished.  So, 
let  it  pass." 

While  he  spoke  there  arose  a  lurid  glare  from  the 
highest  peak  of  Old  Tarawera,  which  quickly  grew  and 
widened  until  it  seemed  as  if  the  infernal  regions  were 
situated  below.  It  lit  up  the  adjacent  summits  of 
Ruawahi  and  Watanga,  from  which  the  rolling  columns 
of  smoke  began  to  ascend  and  form  a  canopy  of  black- 
ness overhead.  Beneath,  Ti  Terrata,  the  White  Ter- 
race, shone  like  a  vast  staircase  of  fretwork  marble. 
Its  infinite  circles  of  dull  white  segments,  running  into 
each  other  for  hundreds  of  feet,  were  lit  up  as  clearly 
as  by  the  morning  sun.  To  right  and  left  of  the 
burning  volcano,  rugged  precipices  yawned,  with 
scarred  peaks  and  pinnacles  looming  in  the  background. 
From  the  Fairy  Baths  of  the  Terrace,  upward  to  the 
gloomy  Mount,  with  its  tongues  of  fire  half  a  mile  wide 
and  high,  the  sight  was  in  truth  appalling. 

A  noiseless  step  had  glided  into  the  room,  and  look- 
ing up,  Victor  Mauprat  beheld  Peter  Dusk,  the  de- 
tective, at  his  side. 

"  You  are  my  prisoner,"  said  the  latter,  in  a  low 
tone,  laying  his  hand  on  the  convict's  shoulder. 
"  Come! "  and  he  pointed  to  the  door. 

Neither  of  the  trio  ever  reached  that  open  doorway, 
for,  sudden  as  the  thunder-clap,  the  building  rose  in 
the  air,  as  if  it  had  been  no  more  than  a  toy — then 
toppled  over  with  a  loud  crash,  leaving  the  place  where 
it  had  been  a  moment  before  a  gaping  chasm  of  smoke 
and  steam. 


And  the  eruptions  burst  forth  in  all  their  terrible 
power  and  grandeur  on  that  night.     From  Taurauga 


298       THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 

to  Tonga's  Peak,  the  whole  Wairoa  lay  enveloped  in 
opaque  blackness,  lit  up  at  intervals  by  vast  balls  of 
fire,  that  shot  out  of  the  gaping  crater  of  Tarawera, 
with  a  deafening  roar  never  to  be  forgotten  by  those 
who  heard  it. 

Another  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  had  arisen  around 
Tarawera,  and  every  living  thing  began  to  flee  from 
the  awful  scene.  By  one  o'clock  A.  M.  volunteers  and 
Rebel  Maoris  were  flying  along  the  roads  seeking 
shelter  from  the  terrible  hail  of  stones  and  dust  which 
rained  thickly  down  upon  them  everywhere,  crushing 
the  weak  and  fainting  and  retarding  the  strong.  There 
was  no  order  among  the  refugees — each  strove  to  save 
himself. 

From  out  the  roaring  noises  round  them — from  out 
the  infernal  glare,  radiating  and  spreading  in  all  direc- 
tions, and  the  reeling,  groaning  earth  beneath  their 
feet — Colonel  de  Roal,  Joe  Sharpe  alias  the  Ferret, 
and  the  giant  Blake  fled  towards  the  sea-coast. 

"  Is  it  the  Judgment  Day  ?  "  cried  Sharpe,  with  pallid 
lips.  And  at  that  instant,  like  a  shot  from  a  gun,  a 
huge  boulder  struck  him  down  into  a  mangled,  shape- 
less corpse. 

The  Colonel  turned,  and  a  ghastly  smile  came  over 
the  thin  set  mouth  as  he  looked.  "Onward  to  the 
coast !  "  he  shouted  in  the  ear  of  the  giant,  and  the 
pair  strode  forward  through  the  wild  glimmer,  the 
thunder-rocked  ravines,  with  the  dark  volcanic  showers 
rattling  round  them  on  all  sides,  and  rendering  their 
path  perilous  in  the  extreme. 

Suddenly  Drummond  Blake  uttered  a  cry.  A  ball 
of  burning  lava  struck  him  and  broke  his  legs  as  if 
they  had  been  no  more  than  rotten  twigs,  and  he  went 
down,  never  to  see  the  bright  sun  again  in  this  world. 


NE  PLUS  ULTRA.  299 

In  vain  De  Roal  tried  to  raise  his  fallen  comrade.  The 
dust  and  stones  rained  down  more  fiercely  than  before. 
In  a  few  minutes  they  formed  the  giant's  grave,  and 
smothered  him  where  he  had  fallen. 

Morning  found  the  Colonel  struggling  on  through 
fire  and  desolation,  but  there  was  no  morning  here,  for 
the  air  was  black  as  night,  illumined  only  by  Mount 
Tarawera's  gigantic  tongue  of  flame.  Reeling  onward, 
faint  and  weary,  he  came  upon  the  figure  of  a  man 
kneeling  beside  his  dead  son.  It  was  Te  Huna,  the 
Maori.  Tohunga  of  great  renown  bent  reverently  over 
the  body  of  Titori,  the  Rebel  leader. 

The  hoary  savage  turned  his  bloodshot  eyes  upon 
the  Pakeha. 

"  White  devil !  this  is  thy  bloody  work,"  he  cried, 
and  drawing  forth  his  tomahawk,  he  cleft  the  fainting 
sinner  to  the  chops. 


300        THE  SHADOW  OF  HILTON  FERNBROOK. 


EPILOGUE. 

IT  is  a  summer's  morning — one  of  the  loveliest  in 
the  pleasantest  month  of  the  year  in  New  Zealand. 
The  fashionable  world  on  Shortland  Crescent  are  all 
aglow  with  excitement,  for  a  grand  double  wedding  is 
being  performed  with  all  the  pomp  and  ceremony  of 
wealth  at  the  little  rural  church  of  St.  Bartholomew 
on  the  Hill.  The  happy  pairs  who  are  being  joined 
together  in  holy  matrimony  are  Hilton  Fernbrook  with 
Blanche  Trevor,  and  Amos  Ward  with  Victorine  Gay- 
land. 

Adown  the  broad  aisle  of  the  sacred  and  crowded 
edifice  are  to  be  seen  faces  of  old  friends  who  are 
present  to  witness  the  ceremony,  and  to  take  part  in 
it. 

Alton  Lyndhurst  is  there,  his  smiling  wife  by  his 
side ;  with  Ralph  Warne  on  the  novelist's  lee,  glass  on 
eye,  while  his  sweet  little  Italian  better  half  tries  to 
get  a  peep  over  her  husband's  broad  shoulders  at  the 
fair  brides. 

Amos  Ward  is  there,  pale  after  his  wounds  and  the 
suffering  he  underwent  during  the  dreadful  flight  from 
Wairoa.  People  said  that,  in  the  midst  of  the  erup- 
tion, Victorine  Gayland  risked  her  life  to  rescue  the 
gallant  Colonel,  who  lay  helpless  in  the  midst  of  the 
volcanic  shower.  Of  course  the  man  could  not  do  less 
than  reward  her  with  the  life  she  had  preserved! 

Poor  Victorine !  The  mobile  face  looks  happy  now, 
with  a  tender  love-light  in  the  dark  blue  eyes  that 


EPILOGUE.  301 

ever  and  anon  shyly  seek  those  of  the  man  at  her  side. 
After  all  the  storms  of  Fate,  she  has  found  her  haven 
of  refuge  at  last  with  this  strong  loving  nature  ;  and  he 
feels,  as  he  meets  her  loving  look,  that  come  weal  or 
woe,  cloud  or  sunshine,  he  will  wear  her  in  his  heart 
of  hearts  until  death. 

"And  you  really  love  me,  Blanche?"  asks  the 
Master  of  Fernbrook  for  the  twentieth  time  of  the 
proud  stately  lady  who  is  about  to  swear  allegiance  to 
her  sceptical  questioner.  And  Blanche  Trevor  blushes 
through  her  costly  lace,  as  she  answers  for  the  twen- 
tieth time — 

"  Dear  Hilton,  I  have  loved  you  all  my  life ! " 


THE   END. 


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Popular   Novels 

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By  Rig 

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A  Dash 

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Peril 

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By    the  fa  m  o  u  s    Author    of 
ALICE  OF  OLD  VINCENNES 


MILLY; 

OR,     AT    LOVES    EXTREMES 


By     MAURICE     THOMPSON 


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of  Comment 

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D.  DINKELSPIEL: 

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By  GEORGE  V.  HOBART. 
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PERIOD  — Early  in  the  Century. 

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